Poison Pen
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: Someone is killing recipients of the Poe Award. Could mystery writer Richard Castle be next? Detective Beckett needs to find out. This is an AU story that begins around the time the pilot episode of Castle did.
1. Chapter 1

Poison Pen

Chapter 1

Castle groans and covers his head with a pillow, but the insistent buzzing of his doorbell refuses to abate. He was hoping that with Mother and Alexis on a yoga retreat in the Catskills, he'd have a chance to sleep in, but Morpheus is obviously not smiling on him.

Reluctantly pushing back the covers, Castle throws his bare feet over the side of the bed, shoving them into his slippers. He grabs a tiger-striped terry robe from a hook on the en suite bathroom door, before shuffling his way to answer the unrelenting summons.

His book agent, Paula Haas, charges over the threshold, holding up a letter. "You got another one! Ricky, this is scaring the hell out of me."

"Maybe you'd be less jumpy if you took some time to sleep," Castle suggests. "Come on, Paula, I've been getting disturbing mail ever since 'In A Hail of Bullets.' Except for the occasional enterprising fan who's managed to stow away on a room service cart or masquerade as hotel staff to invade my tour accommodations, nothing has happened. The most I've had to do is sign a few body parts, and I do that all the time at readings anyway. Just turn that thing over to the postal inspector as usual and let me get back to bed."

Paula shakes her head, loosing a raven strand from her tightly wound bun. "Ricky, call it agent's intuition, but this guy doesn't come across like your usual harmless crazies. Listen! 'The poisoning of the literary arts that flows from your fingers will flow through your veins, and your vile attacks on the writer's craft will cease.' This one isn't just complaining that he didn't like how Derrick Storm's last case ended. This is a personal attack on you. It gives me agita every time I read it. I think we should at least put on extra security for your book party tonight."

"Fine," Castle agrees. "Talk to Gina. She makes all the arrangements. Look, Paula, I appreciate your concern, as fiscally motivated as it may be, but I think it would be in both of our best interests for you to leave me alone now. I believe I was dreaming of a new character, but your arrival banished it from my brain. If I'm lucky, maybe I can get it back."

"I'm going. After your idiotic move of killing off Storm, you need to dream up a new character, and it better be a good one." Paula lifts one fashionably shod foot. "Jimmy Choo heels don't come cheap, and neither does your house in the Hamptons or those five-star hotels you love to stay in on your tours."

"I'll come up with something, Paula," Castle promises, "I always do."

"It better be soon, Ricky. Gina is already making noises about clawing back your advance."

"With Gina, clawing at me is standard operating procedure. My next character will knock her on her ass."

"Just make sure that happens before Black Pawn knocks you on yours," Paula warns.

Castle shuts the door behind his agent. No wisp of his dream remains in his mind. He's not sure now that there even was a character, or if there was, that it would have made sense in the harsh light of day. He can try going back to sleep, but he doubts that it will do any good.

* * *

"Weird you like, weird you get," Esposito announces as Detective Kate Beckett arrives at a crime scene.

"What's weird about it?" Kate asks, pulling on a pair of gloves and walking toward a body slumped over a vintage writing desk.

M.E. Lanie Parish points at the victim's neck. "Death by pen, specifically the old type that writers dipped in ink wells." She holds up the bagged murder weapon. "We'll know more when the lab guys have a look, but it appears to have been sharpened for the job. The strange thing is this guy didn't bleed much, and there's a substance on the pen that isn't blood. It could be poison."

"A poison pen," Kate considers, taking the bag and tracing the shape of the murder weapon with her fingers. "Some kind of a message, maybe? I recognize this. It's the symbol of the Poe Society, a mystery writers group that gives out awards that look like this, every year. I get the books they recommend. They're good."

Lanie's head waggles back and forth on her neck. "Kate Beckett taking anyone's advice on anything; that's a coin landing on edge."

Kate ignores the tease. "Who's the victim?"

Lanie lifts the head of the body so that Kate can see its face. " I already got what I need so I can move the body without destroying evidence. If you recognize the pen, maybe you recognize him."

Studying the features, Kate nods. "That's Connor O' Donnell. He won last year's Poe award."

"That's who's listed as owning the house," Ryan notes.

"Who discovered the body?" Kate queries.

"We don't know. The front desk at the 12th got an anonymous call, a male voice, from one of the few payphones the city has left," Ryan replies. "It's on a corner a few blocks away from here. But you know New York, no one admits to seeing anyone using it, and there's no video.

"The killer didn't want us to find him, but he wanted us to find Connor. He needed us to see his work," Kate speculates. "He's sending a message."

* * *

Kate looks up grimly from her computer. "Two other Poe Award winners have been killed within the last few months. One was on an island retreat in the Caribbean, and the other was on a research trip to Saudi Arabia, so no one made the connection."

"Until now," Esposito points out.

"Who won this year, Beckett?" Ryan wonders.

"Richard Castle. He writes the Derrick Storm books. His next one is supposed to be available today. Since I order similar novels sometimes, I got a notice from Amazon to preorder. I should go talk to him."

"As a detective or a fan?" Esposito smirks.

"As a detective," Kate retorts. "There may be an event to celebrate the book's release. If there is, I can talk to him there."

* * *

Castle marvels at how Gina can go from shooting daggers out of her eyes at him in a private corner of the room to her effusive praise of his work in front of an audience. Perhaps during their unfortunate marriage, she picked up some acting tips from Rick's mother. He has to give his ex-wife credit for putting on a good show. The music is lively, the Champagne palatable, and the requests for signed copies of Storm Fall, brisk.

Now if he can only figure out what comes next. Gina issued an ultimatum. She needs chapters on her desk within three weeks, or not only will Black Pawn demand the return of his advance, which he can afford, but they may drop him as an author, which he can't — at least not right now. After 20 years with Black Pawn in its various incarnations, building a relationship with a publisher who will promote him as tirelessly as his present home does, would be difficult. He and Gina may not have had an amicable parting as husband and wife, but she is still tops at her job.

Handing a newly signed book to a gushing fan, Castle flashes his carefully developed smile and looks out across the ballroom. For a moment, he feels as if he's been struck by lightning. An exquisite though unadorned woman is striding toward him. She's not dressed in party clothes, and is that a badge hanging from her waistband? He knows Gina put on the extra security Paula requested, but a cop?

Kate approaches the book signing table. "Mr. Castle, I'm Detective Beckett. I have reason to believe that you're in danger."


	2. Chapter 2

Poison Pen

Chapter 2

"Is this about the letters?" Castle asks. "I thought Paula was just going to turn them over to the postal inspector. She'd know more about them than I do. All my fan mail goes to her office. She should be around here somewhere. I can find her for you."

"I don't know anything about any letters, Mr. Castle, but I would like to talk to Paula…"

"Haas," Castle fills in. "She's my agent. But if it's not about the letters Detective Beckett, what makes you think I'm in danger?"

"A killer whose targets have been recent winners of the Poe award. You could be next on his list."

Castle's fingers tighten around his Sharpie. "How about the families of the victims? Are they all right? I have a daughter and a mother."

"As far as we can tell, Mr. Castle, only the writers have been targeted."

Rick slowly blows out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Is Connor O'Donnell the latest victim?"

"Why?" Kate queries.

"I saw him at The Strand last week, and he said he was also getting some interesting mail. He laughed it off. We both did. I guess the laugh was on us, Detective. So, what's our next step?"

"I'll need to get those letters from Ms. Haas if she still has them. Otherwise, I can reach out to the postal inspector. We'll have to put you under police protection, and I need to interview you. You may have something at the back of your mind that might be a clue to the killer."

"Detective, I'm under contractual obligation to stay the length of this party. But I will put you with Paula," Castle offers, "and as soon as the bell tolls eleven, I will be at your disposal."

* * *

Castle tries not to wince at the bitter taste of the coffee as he and Kate share a high table in the break room at the 12th Precinct. He points to his cup. "Thanks for this, and the aspirin. If you've never had to do it, you wouldn't think there's much to autographing books, but there have been some signings when I could barely move my shoulder afterward."

"I understand," Kate acknowledges, wrinkling her nose at the staleness of a doughnut leftover from the morning shift. "The summer before I went to college, I thought modeling would be easier than waiting tables. It wasn't. Holding unnatural poses with a perfect smile on my face was more exhausting than carrying trays with five dinners on them." For a split second, Kate just stares at Castle. "I don't know why I told you that. No one at the N.Y.P.D. except for HR knows I was a model. These guys would tease the hell out of me."

"Then it will be our little secret," Rick promises. "So, what did you want to know about the Poe Society and my fans?"

"You've been a published author since 'In a Hail of Bullets,' but how long have you been a member of the Poe Society?" Kate inquires.

"You know about 'In a Hail of Bullets?' You would have been what, about eight when that came out?"

Kate reddens. "Ten, and my mother had a copy."

"Had? Too bad. The first edition is a bit of a collectors' item now."

Kate pushes away what's left of her doughnut. "My mother's been dead for ten years."

"I'm sorry, Detective. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. But to answer your question, I was inducted in 1999, when it became apparent that my Derrick Storm novels would consistently make the bestsellers list."

"So membership is based on popularity rather than literary merit?" Kate wonders.

Rick takes another sip of his coffee. "I would like to think it's both. We mentor beginning authors before they're offered membership. But yes, popular success does play a large part in acceptance into the club, if nothing else because the dues are steep. You know, Detective Beckett, your question plays into what was in the letter that Paula showed me. It said," he recalls, closing his eyes, "'The poisoning of the literary arts that flows from your fingers will flow through your veins, and your vile attacks on the writer's craft will cease.' That's a direct quote."

Kate's eyes narrow. "I would think that only the killer would remember that word for word. You have quite a memory, Mr. Castle."

"Detective Beckett, considering that since I could hold a pencil, I spent most of my earlier years writing, I never would have gotten through school if I didn't. My daughter, who actually has to study, occasionally gets jealous. But if I have triggered your detective's suspicions, feel free to test me," Rick offers. "Some of my acquaintances have made a party trick out of doing just that."

Kate slides off her high stool. "Challenge accepted. I'll be right back." Kate grabs a loose-leaf patrol manual from a bookcase filled with reference volumes. She opens it in front of Castle and points to the preface. "Memorize this." His gaze flies over the page, and she snatches the binder back. "What did it say?"

Castle closes his eyes again. "Law enforcement officers are front-line soldiers of the law. They are constantly faced with critical situations. Immediate decisions and consequent actions must be proper to preserve the integrity of law enforcement, the citizens of New York, and the rights of the defendants. Law enforcement officers faced with violence, serious emergencies, or erupting crimes must act at once, and their judgment must be based on knowledge."

Following Rick's recitation word for word, Kate's mouth drops open. "That was it, exactly."

"I know that, Detective. But now that we are past that little obstacle to our collaboration, what else did you want to know?"

Kate closes the manual and sits straighter on her stool. "Um, how does one become a member of the Poe Society? Is there an application process?"

"No one can apply. There's a nomination procedure. Names go through a committee, and then they get submitted to the general membership for a yea or nay. The awards run the same way."

"So if someone is snubbed by the committee for some reason, impressing the general membership wouldn't help," Kate assumes. "Were you or O'Donnell ever on the nominating committee?"

"No. That's more for heavyweights like Patterson and Connelly."

"So generally, the award winners have no control over whether other authors get nominated or not."

"That's right," Castle acknowledges. "I think I see what you're getting at, Detective. An author with a grudge and an understanding of the society would be more likely to go after the big boys than the winners. The killer is a writer who was never tagged for membership. There could be millions of those on Amazon's listings alone. That's a huge suspect pool. But there might be a way to narrow it down."

"I'm all ears, Mr. Castle."

"You'll have writing samples: his letters to me, O'Donnell, and maybe the other victim. Beginning writers tend to fall in love with a phrase or string of words. They use it over and over. Old hands do too, but we have editors to perform merciless excisions. We could look for patterns and check for matches to online postings. You might start with 'poisoning of the literary arts.' It has a deadly ring to it. The killer didn't, by any chance, use poison?"

"The M.E. is still figuring that out," Kate admits. "Look, Mr. Castle, investigating these murders is the N.Y.P.D.'s job, not yours. You've been very helpful, but I can put a protective detail on you now and send you home. We can take it from here."

"Then, I assume you have a cop expertly schooled in the literary arts to help you pursue your quarry?"

"Not exactly," Kate concedes.

"In that case, I volunteer my services," Castle declares. "If O'Donnell's murder was committed by a writer, who better than another writer to help you catch him? And how could I be safer than in the company of an N.Y.P.D. detective?"


	3. Chapter 3

Poison Pen

Chapter 3

"The N.Y.P.D. does occasionally enlist the aid of consultants," Kate admits, "but the decision to take one on is above my pay grade. I'll have to run it past my captain, and until I can do that, I'll have uniformed officers take you home and put a watch on your place. Except that I have no idea where you live. It could be outside the jurisdiction of this precinct."

"Knowledge of the location of my residence is fairly tightly held, which is why most of my correspondence goes to Paula. I keep a low personal profile for my daughter's sake, more than my own. However," Rick confides, "my home is not only within your jurisdiction; it's within walking distance."

"You're not walking anywhere at 1 a.m., Mr. Castle," Kate declares. "Take the ride. I'll be in touch."

Rick tips an imaginary hat. "I look forward to it, Detective Beckett."

* * *

Captain Roy Montgomery runs his hand over his too rapidly balding pate. "Are you telling me that Richard Castle wants in on your case?"

Clasping her hands behind her back, Kate twists her fingers. "Yes, Sir. He has already been helpful in providing a possible direction for our search for Connor O'Donnell's killer. And if he is the killer's next target, we'll be able to keep a watch on him."

"Unless he gets killed while he's playing detective with you. That could be a PR nightmare. On the other hand, the commissioner put out a directive for us to get any positive press that we can for the department. There have been some incidents lately that have had the opposite effect — nothing involving cops from the 12th, but in the eyes of the public, we all get tarred with the same brush. Kimmel likes having authors on. Maybe Castle can plug us next time he makes an appearance. All right, Beckett, Castle can help with the case, just make sure he doesn't get hurt or pissed off. If he talks about us on TV, he'd better say something nice or the commissioner will have both our asses."

"Yes, Sir. I'll give Castle a call and have the unit guarding him to bring him in."

* * *

As his electric razor buzzes away his morning stubble, Castle examines his face in his bathroom mirror. His lack of sleep shows, but he's not about to climb back into his bed. After working as hard as he did to solicit Detective Beckett's invitation, he's not about to mess up his chances to spend some time with her. He's also serious about wanting to help her solve the case. The last thing he needs is some crazy wanting to bury him alongside the late lamented Derrick Storm.

Keeping his ass intact aside, he hasn't been drawn to a woman the way he's attracted to Beckett since the three years he spent with Kyra Blaine while they were in college. He can blame that obsession on rampant hormones, but he's not a kid anymore. Whatever he feels for Kate is adult in every way, and other than ensuring they're in proximity, he has no plan for what to do about it. He rechecks the mirror. Maybe eye drops will help, that and a large mug of coffee that's a lot better than the battery acid at the precinct.

* * *

Castle studies each word of copies of the excoriating letters that he, Connor O'Donnell, and the killer's first known victim, Salmon Ivanovich, received. "This is one angry guy, Detective Beckett."

"He did kill two people," Kate points out.

"True," Castle agrees, "but I'd previously pegged him more as jealous. Ivanovich, O'Donnell and I, got something that he wanted. But there's more than than a green-eyed monster here. Writers choose their words very carefully. Just picking something from a list in a Thesaurus won't do it. A laugh isn't the same as a giggle, which is distinct from a guffaw. The emotional weights of synonyms differ. With our murderer, almost every choice indicates controlled rage. He kills with a careful plan. Even his weapon selection would be a statement of dominance over his impulses. He's also exerting superiority over his victims."

"Assuming that you're right, Castle, how does that get us any closer to identifying him?" Kate questions. "The letters all had different postmarks, phony back addresses, and no fingerprints. So far, the lab hasn't found any DNA either."

"Those are all indications of his drive for control," Castle insists. "We're looking for long words instead of short ones because they tend to have more precise meanings. Whatever he says will feature as little ambiguity as possible. If he has books out, they are probably self-published and written the same way. Along with internet postings by the killer, we can look for reviews that cite that type of anal-retentiveness. Those could lead us to the author."

Waving a file, Ryan joins Kate and Rick in the conference room. "We got the lab results on the poison. It's a blarina toxin."

"Shrew venom?" Castle asks.

"That's right, Mr. Castle," Ryan confirms. "The lab boys have never seen it before, but they matched it to a structure isolated by Japanese researchers. How did you know?"

"My daughter, Alexis, did a paper on poisonous mammals. I helped her with her research. It fits," Rick concludes, turning to Kate. "One of the synonyms for shrew is fury, which in turn can be defined as an avenging spirit. It's a play on words to demonstrate the killer's language supremacy."

"I've got another description for what he did," Kate announces triumphantly — "hubris. His efforts at showing the world how clever he is gave us a trail to follow. There can't be that many places to get shrew venom. If we trace down the sources and their customers, we may uncover a suspect. Ryan, you and Esposito get started on that, Castle and I will go at it from the angle of the killer's writing. Sooner or later, what we find will overlap."

A messenger knocks on the doorframe of the conference room. "I have a package for a Detective Beckett, homicide dept, 12th Precinct."

"I didn't order anything," Kate protests, "and I don't have things delivered here."

Ryan reaches for his phone. "We should call the bomb squad."

Castle frantically waves both hands in the air "Whoa! It's not a bomb. I sent it. It's a new coffee maker for the break room. With the sludge I've had here, I figured you need one. It also makes espresso and lattes. It'll save you trips to the Java Hut."

Ryan claps his hands together. "Great! Thanks, Castle. I'll help you set it up."

"Ryan, shrew venom," Kate interjects.

Castle takes the heavy carton from the delivery man. "That's all right. I have one like it at my loft. I know how to set it up. Be right back. And Beckett, try the Sharper Point chatroom. It's an online writer's exchange where our killer might hang out.

"That was nice of him," Ryan comments with a knowing look at Kate as Castle takes off for the break room. At Beckett's sharp stare, Ryan heads for the bullpen. "Right. Blarina toxin."

Kate flips open her laptop and types "sharper point chatroom" into Google. As she scrolls through snarky commentary, Kate has a feeling that Castle might be right about it as a possible posting site for the killer. She's also hoping that he hurries up with the coffee machine. As sleep-deprived as she is, she can use an espresso — a triple espresso. She suspects Castle can too.


	4. Chapter 4

Poison Pen

Chapter 4

Closing her eyes, Kate inhales the aroma of Castle's rich brew before taking a sip. "Mmm, I needed that. Thanks, Castle. Buying the machine was very thoughtful."

"More like self-defense," Castle argues. "How do cops ever manage to function drinking coffee that tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid? New York's finest should have the best."

"You won't get an argument from me on that," Kate agrees. "But the budget around here is always tight, and the captain has been complaining about recent cuts. I think he's glad to have someone lending a hand whom he doesn't have to pay."

Castle raises his cup. "Here's hoping my help is worth more than my nonexistent wages. Did you find anything promising in the Sharper Point chatroom?"

Kate taps her fingers on the legal pad she's been using to take notes. "Maybe. You were right on about the tone, and one of the posters mentioned literary arts. That's only part of the phrase we were looking for, but he was comparing present-day to the Dark Ages."

Castle nods. "Sounds like he could be our guy. I don't suppose he signed his name."

Kate rolls her eyes. "We couldn't get that lucky. He goes by 'Scriptorium's Flaming Sword.'"

"Interesting imagery," Castle observes. "A flaming sword guarded Eden, and a scriptorium is a room reserved for writing. I wonder if he views himself as imbued with God's power to guard the written word against blasphemers such as myself? So how do we uncover his true appellation?"

"Contacting the registered owner of the domain to see if just asking might do the trick, but I'll more likely need a warrant to get the administrator of the chatroom to disclose it. I'll get on that if you want to explore the web for his other posts."

"I can handle that task," Castle agrees. "I have a pretty good idea about which the word strings to use for my search. Putting them in quotes should winnow the hits from millions to something manageable. At least I hope so. I need to be home by five. Mother is bringing Alexis back from their retreat, and if I'm not there to cook supper, Mother might try to craft a meal. The results of her culinary endeavors can be disastrous."

"Really? That bad?" Kate wonders.

"Worse," Castle insists. "The last time around, none of us dared leave the house for three days. I had to call a visiting doctor service."

"Ew! I get the picture." Kate checks the oversized watch on her wrist. "That still gives us most of the day, especially if we order a pizza," she suggests, banishing the unsettling image from her mind, "so we can work through lunch."

"What are your favorite toppings?" Castle asks, the thought of pizza dispelling his recalled queasiness. "I'm a fan of mushroom and sausage."

The tip of Kate's tongue rounds her lips."That's my favorite too!"

"A partnership made in heaven!" Castle declares.

* * *

"So Richard, I haven't seen you look this pleased with yourself since Oprah picked Raging Storm for her book club," Martha recalls. "What have you been up to while Alexis and I were centering ourselves?"

"You do look happy, Dad," Alexis chimes in, "but what is the police car doing downstairs?"

The last thing Castle wants is to scare his family, but his daughter always knows when he's less than forthcoming. His mother is pretty perceptive as well. He takes a deep breath. "There's a nutcase out there who murdered two past winners of the Poe Award. As far as the N.Y.P.D. can tell, there's no danger to either of you, but they are guarding me on the chance I might be his next target. I am, however, working with the detective in charge to solve the case. The experience is both stimulating and enlightening."

Martha's eyes flit over her son. "From that silly grin on your face, I assume the detective is a woman."

"Detective Beckett is of the female persuasion," Castle admits. "She's really quite remarkable."

"And beautiful, I'd imagine," Martha adds.

"Uniquely so," Castle declares. "I've never met anyone like her. She's inspired the main character in my next book. I've already put my outline together and started on the first chapter."

"If she's got you writing again more power to her." Martha raises a glass of red wine. "To Detective Beckett." Castle lifts his goblet, and Alexis uses her tumbler of root beer to join the toast.

* * *

Upon arriving at the 12th at 9 a.m., Castle goes straight to the break room to prepare what he's discovered is Beckett's favorite latte. Her blue mug is still on the rack, making him pretty sure she hasn't made one for herself. Bringing it to her desk, he lets the scent of vanilla waft her way, pulling her eyes from her computer screen. He hands her the fragrant brew. "Got something?"

"I haven't got a name on the Flaming Sword yet; there's a stack of paperwork involved. But I was able to track down some of the posters you found in your search yesterday. Three of them are in the city. Want to go with me to talk to them? Just their reactions to seeing you could tell us something."

Castle rubs his hands together. "Catching a possible culprit unawares. I love it! When are we going?"

"I have to finish updating my case notes and," she smiles up at him, "I'm not leaving without finishing this latte. You know, Castle, if you ever give up writing, you'd make a hell of a barista."

"I've thought about it," Castle confides, "but not as an alternative vocation. A coffee shop like Java Hut is a microcosm of life. People come to celebrate and to console themselves. They use their laptops to work or apply for jobs. Friends meet, and businesspeople conduct meetings. I bet crooks even plan crimes there. It's a treasure trove for finding characters and picking up dialogue."

"Hmm, maybe I should enlist a barista as a confidential informant," Kate muses.

"Not exactly the noir vibe of the see-all know-all bartender," Castle considers, "but a possible fount of information, nonetheless. I wonder if any of our suspects avail themselves of free and anonymous coffee shop Wi-Fi."

"We may find out, Castle."

* * *

After throwing Rick a contemptuous stare, Bob Long waves Beckett and Castle into his apartment. The furniture has seen better days, but floor to ceiling bookcases are crammed with lovingly cared for volumes. Long regards the image on Kate's phone. "Yes, I made the post. I'm a retired English teacher. For 40 years, I attempted to school my students in the appreciation of a well-turned phrase communicating multiple levels of meaning. Now, if you can pry the populace away from their phones, they read crap like — I'm sorry, Mr. Castle — 'Storm Rising.' The only people displaying any knowledge of fine literature these days are _Jeopardy_ contestants, and even they don't recognize many phrases that should be etched in their memories. A tweetstorm will birth the whirlwind our falling civilization will reap."

"You have quite a talent for a well-turned phrase yourself, Mr. Long," Castle remarks. "Ever written a book?"

Long shuffles his feet against a scarred hardwood floor. "I tried, Mr. Castle, but I discovered that my talent lies in developing the gifts of others. I've taught several published authors. None of them has made the bestsellers list, but after all, it is quality, not quantity that counts."

"My agent, my publisher, and my business manager might express an opposing view, Mr. Long," Castle returns. "Perhaps both are possible. Believe it or not, I don't remember missing a literature question on _Jeopardy_. I wish your former students and all budding writers the best of luck."

"Castle, with your memory, have you ever missed a _Jeopardy_ question on anything?" Kate asks as they take the elevator from Long's apartment.

"Of course, Beckett. Song lyrics, among other things. In my head, I keep hearing the Weird Al Yankovic versions."

Kate hides a giggle behind her hand. "Weird Al's are probably better anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

Poison Pen

Chapter 5

"Who's next on our list?" Castle queries Kate.

"Lawrence Singer. He lives in Tribeca."

"That neighborhood has more celebrities per square foot than anywhere else in the city," Castle notes. " Tourists hang out, hoping for a glimpse of Sarah Jessica Parker or DeNiro. I take it, Mr. Singer is not another retired teacher."

Kate shrugs. "I don't know, Castle. I just have a name and address and the lack of felonies on his record. There wasn't much else in my background search, and Singer is a pretty common name."

"Yeah, it is," Castle agrees, "but I heard Mother mention a Lawrence Singer, years ago. As I recall, she was booked for a movie, but the script was a disaster, and he was called in to doctor it. The movie tanked. The critics liked the new version, but the audiences stayed away in droves. The thing is still screened occasionally to class up minor film festivals. It's billed as thought-provoking."

"Have you seen it?" Kate asks.

"I see all of Mother's movies, a practice best for keeping peace in the family. Unfortunately, I found that one more sleep-inducing than provocative. My popcorn fell out of my lap."

* * *

"Lawrence, who's at the door?" A shaky voice calls from a back room, as Singer admits Kate and Rick to a condominium.

"No one worth disturbing your nap, dear," Lawrence calls back. "You need your rest."

"Was that Merlina Maguire?" Castle wonders. "She came to one of my mother's salons once."

"Right," Singer agrees. "You're Martha Rodgers' boy, the pulp writer. I believe Merlina mentioned meeting you. She and I have been married for the last 15 years."

A sordid scenario solidifies in Castle's mind as he survey's the opulent but aging furnishings. "That would have been right after she made her last major film, 'Bird Whistle.'"

"That's correct," Singer confirms. "I was called in to rework the script. We discovered we were soulmates — and we fill each other's needs. But I doubt that you're here about my marriage to Merlina. What can I do for the N.Y.P.D.?"

"Are you familiar with The Poe Society, Mr. Singer?" Kate inquires.

I've occasionally seen the award symbol embossed on the dust jacket of a mystery novel, usually on the clearance table when I've been browsing at Taschen. Other than that, I can't say that I am. My specialty is enabling actors to communicate timeless ideas in language that purveys the beauty of their themes. Mysteries, either on the screen or in print, are not my genre. If I had my choice, I'd help bring nothing but classics to the screen. Unfortunately, much of the movie-going public these days prefers to see comic-book characters continually grappling with each other. 'Hulk, smash,' is not my idea of compelling dialogue."

"Seems to me that it conveys the action perfectly," Castle quips, "but then what does a pulp writer with 23 bestsellers know?"

"Mr. Singer," Kate interrupts, "have you ever met Connor O'Donnell or Salmon Ivanovich?"

"I can't say that I have," Singer avers, "but I am fond of some early works Ivanovich published in Literary Monthly. Quite lyrical. Pity he gave in to the pressures of the marketplace."

"Lawrence, I need some chamomile tea to help me relax," Merlina's voice demands from afar.

"Yes, Sweetheart, right away," Singer responds. "If there's nothing else, Detective Beckett…"

"No, I think we're finished here," Kate replies. "Go make your wife her tea, Mr. Singer. I'll call you if I have any more questions."

* * *

"Castle, are you humming 'Just a Gigolo?'" Kate asks as they leave Tribeca.

"Fitting, don't you think?" Castle replies. "That was obviously Merlina's condo. Singer is too unimaginative to achieve any sizable success as a script doctor, so he hitches his wagon to a fading star."

"Castle, that's cynical," Kate argues. "From your books, I would think you have a more optimistic outlook on life than that. Maybe Merlina and Lawrence are in love."

"I was less cynical before my mother's second husband took off with all her savings. She wasn't much younger when she married him than Merlina must have been when she married Lawrence. Well, at least Lawrence brings Merlina tea. All Mother's ex brought her was unpaid bills. And how many of my books have you read, Detective?"

Blood suffuses Kate's cheeks. "After my mother was killed, I started reading everything you wrote. I told you that she liked your work. I'd wrap myself in an old quilt she loved and curl up with Storm. It made me feel closer to her. It still does."

Castle lays a hand gently on her shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that, Detective. I'm glad that Storm can be of service. But if we're discussing coping mechanisms, perhaps we should focus on Mr. Singer. Do you think he's compensating for his position, literary and otherwise, by committing murder?"

"Do you, Castle?" Kate throws back.

"Honestly, I don't think he has the creativity the Poe Awards Killer has shown. He seems to have satisfied himself by kindling that flame in his students."

"Barring solid evidence to the contrary, I agree," Kate concedes.

"So, on to the next suspect?" Castle inquires.

"Unless the ID on Flaming Sword comes through, yeah."

* * *

Castle blinks at the mountain who answers Beckett's knock. At six foot eight and at least 280 pounds of muscle, with a long black braid, George Buck appears more like a regular in a sweaty gym than a library. Still, the inside of his apartment looks more like the domicile of a scribe than a bodybuilder. Except for thick hardcover volumes, there are no weights in sight. The air also has the old book smell resulting from the breakdown of lignin in paper.

"I have nothing to hide, Detective Beckett," Buck asserts in answer to Kate's inquiry. "I wrote the post you describe and many others. I strut the high steel for a living, but books are my passion." He gestures at a crowded shelf. "Many of those have accompanied me to look down on this city. I feel that the wordsmithing that creates them should be as lofty."

Kate cranes her neck at Buck's coppery weathered face. "Mr. Buck, are you familiar with the works of Connor O'Donnell?"

"I read his first book," Buck responds. "I'm always eager to discover new talent. It wasn't bad, but his construction was twisted to fit the genre. I wouldn't take him above the third floor. And Mr. Castle, I've read some of your work too. Your imagery can be quite evocative, but again, it's a matter of genre. If you turned your hand to literary writings, you might produce something worth taking to the top."

"So other than your personal taste, you have nothing against mystery writers?" Kate presses.

"Only bad mystery writers, or bad writing of any stripe," Buck insists. "I believe that if you are going to do something, do it well. When it comes to the construction of a building, doing it right can be a matter of life or death, and when it comes to the construction of a story, it can be life or death for the form. My posts are my way of encouraging writers to put forward their best efforts. I don't see what could be wrong with that."

"Neither do I," Castle agrees. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Buck, if I ever decide to try my luck at an opus more suited for a skyward journey, I'll send you a copy of the first run."

Buck's leathery face crinkles in a grin. "I'd like that, Mr. Castle. I'd like that very much."


	6. Chapter 6

Poison Pen

Chapter 6

Pressing his palm to his mouth, Rick unsuccessfully suppresses a yawn. Not enough intrigue from our suspects, Castle?" Kate asks, driving back to the precinct.

"No, they're an interesting bunch of characters, even if I don't believe any of them is the Poe Award killer. I was up late. I had some ideas racing through my head I had to get down in writing," Castle explains.

"Is that an occupational hazard?" Kate wonders, "or do you usually sleep in?"

"Generally, I don't sleep in during the school year and can't whenever my mother is in a play. I like to make sure Alexis has a decent breakfast before she leaves, and sometimes she has something for me to read or sign that I didn't deal with the night before. And mother starts performance days with vocal exercises. For some reason, she feels obligated to perform them at 5 a.m. Fortunately, my loft is reasonably soundproofed, or the neighbors would have marched on us by now with torches and pitchforks."

"So, you took your mother in after her ex-husband ripped her off?" Kate assumes.

"Uh-huh. Before then, she was out on the road so much that she and my daughter hadn't gotten to know each other very well. These days Alexis loves having Mother around. I've always told her that she can talk to me about anything, but now she has someone to go to with, you know, woman stuff."

Kate drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "I get that. I was 19 when I lost my mother, but I still missed girl-talk."

Castle points to the watch on Kate's wrist. "Did that belong to your mother?"

"No, to my dad. He missed a lot more than girl-talk, and it took him a long time to start functioning again. I've tried my best to pull him out of his hole. He's doing a lot better now." Stopping at a red light, Kate reaches beneath her blouse to pull out a ring on a slim gold chain. "This was hers. I wear it to remember the one I lost." She holds up her watch. "And this is for the one who is still with me."

"Kate," Rick murmurs gently, "if it's at all possible, I believe your mother is still with you as well."

"My father thinks she is. And," Kate confides, "sometimes I do too. What about you, Castle? You're famously fatherless. Did he pass away when you were young?"

The seat belt presses against Castle's shoulder as he shrugs. "I don't know, and according to Mother, neither does she. I was the result of what she describes as a night of the deepest passion she's ever experienced. I have to assume that my father didn't agree. Mother says he was gone when she woke up. She never even knew his full name. He told her to call him Jackson, but that could be a given or surname. Or he might have made it up to bed an ingenue. Mother swears she never saw him again and about all she's been able to tell me is that he was tall, probably about 2 inches taller than me, dark and handsome. How good her recall is, I can't say. If she was that caught up in the moment, her memory might be more like a dream. I don't believe she regards any of the liaisons she's had over the years since then as measuring up."

"That would have to be some dream, Castle if she's held on to it all these years," Kate opines."

As Kate pulls into her spot at the 12th Precinct, Castle strokes the stubble already forming on his jawline. "I suppose it would."

* * *

As Kate activates the computer on her desk in the bullpen, an arriving email chimes. "Castle, we've got the name Scriptorium's Flaming Sword used to register with the Sharper Point chatroom. It's François‐Marie Arouet. Did his letters strike you as sounding like he's French or French Canadian?"

Castle shoves back a lock of hair that falls on his forehead as he shakes his head. "Neither, and probably for a good reason. François‐Marie Arouet was otherwise known as Voltaire. Flamey used the real name of a literary great. That's got to be an alias too, Beckett. It's a dead end."

"Maybe not, Castle," Kate suggests. "He also had to give the administrator of the chat room an email. I should be able to trace it. It will take time — and more paperwork. There's no reason you have to stick around for that. You could go home and get your writing in while there's still some daylight. I'll call you if I come up with anything."

"Promise?" Rick demands.

"You've helped me get this far, Castle. So, sure."

* * *

Putting aside the laptop that was resting across his thighs, Castle swings his legs down from the top of his desk. He winces at the pins and needles as he shakes his feet awake. How long was he writing? After a glance at his watch, he calculates that his time at the keyboard before and after a quick dinner with Alexis comes to about eight hours. If Beckett thought he'd finish while the sun was still in the sky, she must have been thinking Pacific time. At least he made his word count goal. He'll have the chapters Gina demanded on time, and they'll be good. They'll be better than good. The women that sniffle in the seats at his readings will feel for Nikki Heat. The cop who fights every day against her own sense of loss to bring justice to homicide victims is smart and brave. And oh, yes, she's beautiful too.

Rick's also poured his heart into his thinly disguised alter-ego, Jameson Rook, a prize-winning investigative reporter who also writes romance novels. Castle penned a few of those himself when the demand for mysteries and spy books fell off for a while, some years back. For the most part, it was like picking from an old-style menu in a Chinese restaurant. One from column A, the plucky heroine who hates the man who'll be her true love on sight. One from column B, the deliberately snarky hero with a secret past that makes him hesitant to open his heart to column A. Fill in the other picks with the situation that forces them to fall in love, the obstacles in their way when they finally do, and the happy ending. No matter how he spun the other elements, there had to be a happy ending. He tried to give happy endings of a sort to Storm too, but disappointments in his own life often darkened them. When he found out that Meredith was cheating on him, he decided to kill off, if temporarily, Storm's lover Clara Strike.

He'd love nothing more than to find a happy ending with Beckett, but he barely has a beginning. He doesn't even know if she's interested in him as anything other than the author of her comfort books. She's wounded by her mother's death. That's clear enough. Wounded people often bury their true feelings as a shield against future hurts. He knows about that too well. He's spent much of his life doing it himself. But Beckett's given him some hopeful signs, opening up about her history.

So what's his next step? A date, maybe? Between the investigation, his family, and his writing, when will he have time? Simple. He and Beckett will have to catch the Poe Award killer as soon as possible. Sure. Uh-huh. Right. He can handle that no problem. But first, he has to figure out how to stop thinking about Beckett long enough to get some sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Poison Pen

Chapter 7

"Flamey sent his email from here?" Castle questions, looking around a Victorian-style tearoom. "Do they even serve men? All the customers I see are women, mostly of my mother's generation or even earlier."

"According to the data I received, he did. His email provider had the same alias he used for the chat room, and the address he gave was bogus. This place is the only link we have. And with the number of cellphone and tablet users I see taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi, messages may be flying out of here. Considering that we don't have a clue what he looks like, the clientele in this place should make it easier to spot a man." Kate signals to the hostess. "Let's get a table. The spread on that high buffet doesn't look half bad."

"No, it doesn't," Castle agrees, "and I got hooked on scones when I had a stop in London on a book tour. I enjoy British tea, too. They make sure the water is hot enough so that it brews properly. They don't drink the sweepings from the tea warehouse floor that are passed off as 'brisk' to the American public, either."

"I know what you mean," Kate agrees. "In college, I did a semester in Russia, and I learned to appreciate _chai_. Sometimes I go and sit outside a café in the Russsian enclave and pretend to be a Muscovite."

Castle's eyebrows perform a wave. "Tsk, tsk, Detective Beckett. What's the penalty for perpetrating a fraud on the innocent public?"

"Not so innocent, Castle. I've overheard snippets of code-speak that sounded like machinations of the Russian Mafia, something to do with buying condos. I wouldn't be surprised if the Southern District of New York recruited Russian-speakers to investigate money laundering operations."

"Hmm, if I hadn't killed Storm, that might be a good jumping-off point for a book. I'll file it away just in case. Thank you, Detective."

"You're welcome, Castle, but right now, I'm more interested in anything we can pick up about François‐Marie Arouet or whoever he really is. When the server comes, follow my lead."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Schmulie Rodriguez gazes with satisfaction at the new occupants of a table within his station. The few men that eat at the tea room usually tip a higher percentage, probably because they know they stick out like a sore thumb. The checks are usually heftier, too. Guys either order the bigger sandwich assortments or opt for unlimited access to the buffet. Either way, it's more money in Schmulie's pocket. Arranging his face in his most obliging smile, he hurries to take an order.

Kate smiles up at the eager waiter, noting his nametag. "Schmulie, I adore traditional tea." She gestures at Castle. "But, my friend skipped lunch and is looking for the most substantial thing on the menu."

Schmulie nods his understanding. "We do have an option to fill your plate at the buffet as many times as you choose, but I would also recommend the large assorted sandwich platter. Some of the sandwiches contain roast beef and can be quite filling. You won't find any meat at the buffet, although the bread and butter sandwiches, fruit and pastries are excellent. Or you might wish to combine a sandwich platter with one trip to the buffet that you can use to choose accompaniments and dessert. We have another client very fond of that option. He feels it makes quite a full meal."

"I take it this place doesn't get very many male customers," Castle remarks.

"We have very discerning patrons," Schmulie responds, sidestepping the question as best he can, but if any other men arrive, you should see them shortly. So, the platter and the limited buffet for the gentleman?"

Castle inclines his head toward Kate. "Ladies first."

"I don't eat much meat. I'll take full access to the buffet," Kate decides.

"And I will follow your suggestion," Castle adds.

Schmulie nods, jots down their choices on his order pad, and bustles away.

"You don't eat much meat?" Castle questions Kate after Schmulie's left to put in their order. "This from the woman who attacks the sausage on the sausage mushroom pizza before she even picks up a slice."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Castle, I was giving myself an excuse to go to the buffet table whenever we see a man, besides you, picking up side dishes and dessert there. If Schmulie is right and if Flamey shows, it should be any minute. And Castle, we may see a reaction when he spots you. Your face is on the jacket of every one of your books. If a guy shows up, make sure he sees you. While he's staring, I may be able to sneak a picture."

"I should have known, Detective. Always one step ahead."

"Just don't eat anything our possible suspect goes near. We don't know what he poisons besides pens."

"Roger that."

Simon has been looking forward to strong tea, roast beef, and sweet cakes all day. Later, he'll have to clock in for his job cleaning the library, but he spent much of his day trying to figure out how to get to Richard Castle. As far as he can tell from the Castle and Black Pawn websites, the so-called author has no more book signings scheduled any time soon. Castle lives in New York, but so do over 8 million other people, and the writer's home address isn't listed anywhere that Simon can find. He needs the atmosphere of the tea room to plan his next step.

As usual, the hostess seats Simon in Schmulie's section, not far from Rick and Kate. Schmulie knows how to make the regulars happy. The server approaches pen in hand. "Your usual Mr. Arouet?"

"Yes, please," Simon confirms. "And bring the tea right away."

"Yes, Sir. I'll be right back."

Castle shifts in his seat as Schmulie moves out of the way, giving the suspect a clear three-quarter view of Rick's face. Kate watches as expressions first of shock, then loathing appear on the new arrival. She brushes Castle's hand, giving a barely perceptible nod. Under the table, she sets her phone on camera and jams it in her pocket, ready for action."

Schmulie returns with tea, followed by two sandwich platters, one for Simon and one for Castle. Ten minutes pass before Simon makes the short walk to the buffet table, and Kate and Rick also casually arrive at the sumptuous assortment. "The egg-glazed pastries look amazing," Castle remarks, turning to a man who could try to poison him any second. This is my first time here, but the server seems to know you. What's good?"

Simon's hand fists in the fabric of his pants. "What? Oh. Yes, those pastries are quite elegant. Scones with Devonshire Cream are traditional, but these small cakes are exceptional."

"Hmm," Castle considers, doing his best to hold the man's attention long enough for Kate to snap her photos. "The cream probably wouldn't do great things for my cholesterol levels, but I'll take your advice about the cakes." Castle grabs the two confections furthest out of Simon's reach. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," Simon responds. "When you discover what a gem this tea room is, you won't be able to wait to come back."

"Yes," Castle agrees. "I'm considering a return trip already." He glances sideways at Kate, who subtly taps her pocket. If facial recognition can find the real name that matches the face, they may have their killer.


	8. Chapter 8

Poison Pen

Chapter 8

"Are we going to follow him?" Castle asks when Simon drops money on the table for his check and heads for the door.

Kate automatically glances at her watch. "It's rush hour, Castle. The traffic will be moving slowly enough for him to spot us. We don't have another unit standing by to play leapfrog, and for all we know, he could be the wrong guy. We know where to find him, and you made sure that he won't be surprised if he sees us here again. Let's try for an ID and see where we go from there."

"Just as well," Rick agrees. "Alexis was making a presentation to the Science Fiction Club at school this afternoon, and I want to find out how it went."

"What kind of presentation? I hope the kids aren't caught up in the Marvel versus DC debate."

"Wow! That argument had been going on for years even when I was her age, but apparently, the club members at Marlowe Prep have agreed to a comic book wars truce. She'll be talking about the difference between quantum entanglement and the Star Trek model for teleportation. She's calling it 'Spooky Explorations.'

"Is Alexis planning on majoring in physics?" Kate wonders.

"She's only a sophomore in high school. She doesn't have to worry about a college major yet, but her freshman year she had a crush on a kid who worshipped Stephen Hawking as a god, so she buried herself in physics for a while. When she gets into something, she gets into it all the way. If her next heartthrob is into economics, she could build a shrine to Paul Krugman. I might be able to go to her for better investment advice than I get from my business manager. Or if she picks a guy headed for culinary school, I could put on 30 pounds."

"That's all right, Castle. I can always take you to the police gym with me to work it off."

Mental images of a hot and sweaty Beckett swirl through Castle's brain as the scene morphs from a gym to a more intimate venue. He chugs what's left of his rapidly cooling tea. "Back to the precinct, then?"

"I sent my photos to Ryan to get facial recognition started, but I want to be there if we get a match."

"Me too," Castle decides.

* * *

Castle stares at the information that appears under their suspect's photo. "Simon Badcock? His name is Simon Badcock? No wonder he likes aliases. I wonder why he didn't change it legally." Castle pulls out his phone. "Google. History. Surname, Badcock. Ooh, it seems that a few generations back, there was a Badcock in the 1800s who was a literary light of sorts. According to this article, his work went largely unappreciated by his contemporaries, but there have been several treatises since, extolling the merits of his writings."

Kate's fingertips worry her bottom lip. "That fits. He kept the name in honor of his ancestor and goes after Poe Award winners as stand-ins for writers in the past, who received the recognition he felt should have gone to his family. It's a motive, a sick one, but a motive."

"And it springs from the Victorian era," Castle adds, "which jibes with his choice of restaurant. Our Mr. Badcock does not appear to have authored anything himself. Perhaps he considers his choice of murder weapons as the outlet for an inherited creative bent."

"Well, he's not going to get a chance to dream up another one. The address listed for him is in Bedford Stuyvesant. I'll get a unit over there from the 79th to watch for him until I can set up surveillance. So far, we don't have any evidence strong enough to bring him in on a murder charge, and I'm not about to see some judge cut him loose on a technicality. Now that we have a name, we can use the information the boys got on purchases of blarina toxin. If Badcock is on the list, that's more than probable cause to question him and get a search warrant for his apartment."

"What if he used another alias?" Castle queries.

"He still would have had to pick it up or have it shipped to him. He's left a trail of breadcrumbs somewhere."

"Probably from tiny roast beef sandwiches," Castle quips.

"Badcock?" Esposito repeats when Kate finds him sharing Chinese food with Ryan in the break room. "I don't have to look at the list for that one, Beckett. It would," he snorts, "stand out."

Ryan reaches for the last sparerib before his partner can grab it. "He's right, Beckett. We didn't find a name anything like that, but the file with the list is on my desk if you want to grab it."

Kate skims the contents of Ryan's folder on the way back to her own desk, where Castle is scrolling through the email on his phone. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah. Probably. I thought Alexis might have sent me something after her presentation, but there's nothing here. I'll ask her about it when I get home. It's getting late. I should leave soon. Did the boys have anything on Badcock?"

"No, but I have the list of everyone that bought blarina toxin. Nothing jumps out at me. You want to take a look before you go?"

"Sure," Castle agrees. He rapidly takes in the names as he runs his finger down the list. "This one, Beckett, Phillip Larkin. He was a poet and novelist. He declined an offer to be poet laureate of England and preferred to work as a librarian. Badcock might pick the name of someone who loved books that much as an alias."

"Larkin isn't that uncommon a name, Castle. It could be a coincidence. You get out of here. I'll check it out. Let me know how things went for Alexis."

Castle smiles as he pushes out of his chair. "Thanks, Beckett. I will."

* * *

The aroma of lasagna reaches Castle's nose, even before he unlocks the door of his loft. Good. That means that Alexis heated up the pan of pasta he left in the freezer, for her dinner. Not that the fifteen-year-old isn't capable of taking care of herself. With Mother at the theater, there's little chance of another bout of gastrointestinal distress. Still, it's nice to know that his daughter took advantage of what he left for her. He might even have some later himself. Badcock might have found his meal at the tearoom filling, but Castle prefers heartier fare.

After quickly climbing the stairs to the mezzanine, Rick knocks on the door of Alexis' room. "Pumpkin?"

His daughter's voice sounds through the door. "Just a second, Dad."

"It's more than a second before Alexis opens the door. Castle notes a flush on her usually pale cheeks above the broad smile on her lips. "I gather you escaped entanglement with your quanta."

For a moment, Alexis' ginger brows descend in puzzlement. "Oh, right. My presentation. It went fine."

"Anything else interesting happen today?" Castle inquires.

"Dad, Owen asked me."

"That's great! Who is Owen, and what did he ask you?"

"He's just the cutest boy in the school, and he likes Star Wars and Laser Tag and Hayley Blue and Stephano's pizza — all the things that I love."

"And he asked you…" Castle presses.

"To go to the junior prom."

"You're not a junior. How old is this, Owen?"

"He's my age, Dad. Our birthdays are only two days apart. But he skipped a year, so he's a junior. Can I go? Please?"

"Alexis, you know I like to know who your friends are before you go anywhere with them and proms — things can happen at proms. If he's taking you, I need to meet him first."

Alexis' pale eyes darken. "Dad, don't you dare embarrass me!"

Castle cups his daughter's cheek. "I won't. I promise. Tell you what. I'll be giving a talk after school tomorrow to the creative writing club. There will be cookies afterward. You can arrange for a casual meeting when I'll have my mouth too full to ask disconcerting questions." He raises his hand for a high-five. "Deal?"

Sighing, Alexis completes her half of the move. "Deal."


	9. Chapter 9

Poison Pen

Chapter 9

At the end of his shift, Simon goes outside to bring in the morning papers dropped off for the library's reading room. As the wind blows one open, an item in the education calendar catches his eye. "Celebrated author Richard Castle will be speaking to the Creative Writing Club at Marlowe Prep. He'll be generously giving his time to answer questions from students and school personnel. Light refreshments provided by parents will be served."

A sly smile twists Simon's mouth. It shouldn't be challenging to pretend to be delivering pastries on behalf of a busy mother. He saw for himself that Castle enjoys sweetened breads. If he includes one of the _sushki _that Castle featured in his last novel, he can accompany it with a fancy card requesting that it serve as a treat for the author himself. That faux homage will be the last that Castle ever experiences. Simon will be skipping a few hours of sleep to pursue his plan, but when Castle is gone, he and his forbears will rest very well indeed.

* * *

The tantalizing scent of vanilla wafts from the blue ceramic mug Rick presents to Kate. "What did you dig up on Phillip Larkin?"

"A few weeks ago, he had the blarina toxin shipped to him, purchased with a prepaid credit card from a convenience store. He paid cash for the card. The toxin went to a box at one of those shipping places, a different one than Badcock used as Flaming Sword. But," she adds, "he may have screwed up with this one. The facility has video, and the system goes a month before recording over it. Ryan and Esposito are scrubbing the footage for any sign of Badcock. I was about to join them. Want to help?"

"Of course! We're tightening the noose, Beckett. I can feel it."

"I hope you're right, Castle, but a month's worth of video is a lot to go through, and he may not even show up."

* * *

Castle swipes the back of his hand across his eyes and checks his watch. He hates leaving Beckett and her comrades in arms in the lurch. They still have two weeks' worth of video to go through, and so far, there hasn't been a sign of Badcock. Still, Rick has to keep his promise to the school, and he needs to check out Owen.

It's not that he doubts his daughter's judgment, but because of the sting of abandonment he suffered during his own childhood, he has sheltered her. Maybe too much. Not that he's planning to stop. If he could erect a forcefield around her to shield her from the hurts of the world, he would. As it is, he'll stick his nose in far enough to try to head off obvious perils, like what can happen when hormones go wild, and teenage infatuation banishes reason. If Owen seems the type to take advantage, he may have to step in, even if Alexis won't speak to him for the next six months. If nothing else, Rick can watch the boy's body language. It's generally more revealing than what comes out of a suitor's — or poker player's — mouth. Hopefully, Alexis has picked a boy whose lust has yet to overcome honorable intentions.

"More goodies!" club adviser Mary Beth Lewis greets Simon. "Excellent! We're expecting quite a turnout. We had to move our meeting from its usual room to the multipurpose area." She flips open the large bakery box to reveal the card that Simon calligraphically inscribed for a _sushka_. "'An edible salute to Mr. Castle's work.' I'll make sure that he gets it. I believe Mr. Castle will be quite touched by the effort."

"I'm sure he will," Simon agrees. All he needs to do now is find someplace at the periphery of the meeting where he can observe the denouement of his plan.

* * *

Rick inwardly groans at the question he's heard at least a hundred times. "Where do you get your ideas?"

"First of all, you have to read," Castle explains. "You're not doing it because you're trying to copy someone else's work or style. That's the last thing you want to do. What you are looking for is a feeling that will touch something in your own life. When that happens, you won't have to force the flow of ideas. If anything, you'll have a hard time keeping from being overcome by them. Everyone you see and everything you do every day can also become part of a story. Who's the customer in front of you at Pizza Sam's, and how did he get blue ink on the seat of his pants? Where are the riders near you on the subway with you going, and why? The city, the world, is full of people, each of whom has histories and futures. Some little detail about any one of them can spark your imaginings."

"What about research?" Another student asks.

From his spot behind a stack of tables used for art projects, Simon impatiently fingers the talisman in his pocket, an empty ink cartridge. He saved it from a fountain pen he was given as a graduation present from junior high school. At the time, hardly anyone used much except ballpoints anymore. In fact, some of his fellow students already did much of their work on keyboards of one sort or another. But Simon loved the feel of a fountain pen in his hand. The words that flowed from it seemed to have magic. Unfortunately, the spell couldn't last. The writing tip became clogged, and Simon couldn't fix it. He regretfully took up the tools that the rest of the students used but kept the cartridge as a reminder of the wonder he'd felt. Now it's a reminder of his work to remove the purveyors of garbage that despoil the written word — like the one regaling the aspiring young writers with tricks of his pulpish trade. Castle won't be plying that trade much longer, not much longer at all.

Alexis has been at enough book readings to have heard all the questions and her father's answers before. This meeting is open to everyone, but it's not one of her regular activities. She's seen the less glamorous parts of her father's life, like when he stays up all night in a caffeine haze, making revisions to meet a deadline. She's witnessed his frustration when an editor cut his favorite lines from the final version of a book. She doesn't know what she wants to be yet, but she's not following in the footsteps of her actress mother and grandmother or of her writer father.

She also knows that she wants to go to the prom with the boy sitting next to her. That morning he slipped a sonnet into her locker. It wasn't the greatest poem she'd ever read, but Owen wrote it for her. That makes it precious. Dad has to be able to see just how wonderful Owen is — if the other students ever stop asking questions.

Mary Beth Lewis stands ready with her presentation for Richard Castle. She has the usual certificate of appreciation run off on the printer in the office, the only machine in the school that can handle heavy paper. She signed it, and so did the principal. The special pastry and card will be an excellent addition. She looked around for something nice to put it on, but the scratched plastic plates in the teacher's lounge didn't seem right for the task. The school secretary is out sick, and she's the only one who knows where to find the fine china used for board meetings. A paper plate will have to do, but Mary Beth is sure that as a regular school volunteer, Castle's eaten off plenty of them before. The flurry of upraised hands has finally stopped. That's her cue.


	10. Chapter 10

Poison Pen

Chapter 10

Mary Beth approaches Rick, certificate and paper plate in hand. "On behalf of the creative writing club and Marlowe Prep, I'm pleased to present you with this certificate of appreciation. And one of our parents sent along a special treat, based on your last book. I hope you enjoy it. Now, let's all thank Mr. Castle for giving us his time and insight today."

Simon stays in his hiding place as the applause dies down, and the students begin to leave their seats. Castle has yet to show any signs of wanting to try the _sushka_, as he approaches a red-headed girl and the boy pulling at his collar who is standing with her.

Attempting to balance the plate and the certificate, Castle extends his arm. "You must be Owen."

As Owen nervously shakes Rick's hand, the flimsy plate bends, spilling its contents to the floor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Castle," Owen stammers as the Russian version of a bagel bounces away.

"Sorry, Dad," Alexis chimes in.

"Not a problem," Castle confides. "Having that thing hit the floor gives me an excuse not to eat it. The truth is that Derrick Storm likes _sushki, _but Richard Castle doesn't. Authors don't need to share their creations' tastes. Readers were always giving Dorothy Sayers port because her character Lord Peter Wimsey drank it. In truth, she hated the stuff. I'm not quite that hostile to _sushki_, but the only way I can make them palatable is to dip them in tea or coffee. Somehow I don't think the punch that's on the refreshment table would do the trick."

"I'll go pick it up before someone steps on it," Alexis volunteers, taking the plate from her father to scoop up the fallen pastry. "Dad, do these things have a filling? There's a little hole in it like there is in a jelly doughnut."

"Maybe that's a special touch from whoever made it for me," Castle suggests, his eyes searching the room. "Can you find a bag or something? I might be able to get a picture of it with the card and the certificate. I could post the photo on my website to give the school a plug."

"I know where to find one," Owen pipes up, his voice cracking slightly. "There are a bunch of paper bags with the craft stuff. We used them to make puppets for a show we did for some little kids at the library."

"Very admirable," Castle comments.

"I'll help you look," Alexis suggests, following Owen into a supply room.

Castle scans for any sign of Badcock. If the killer was in the room, Castle can't spot him now. He didn't want to worry Alexis unnecessarily, but he's never heard of a filled _sushka_. If would be like the sick bastard to strike at him while he's being celebrated for his writing, and worse with his daughter in attendance. He can text Beckett while Alexis and Owen are gone. His protective detail, just inside the main doors to the multipurpose area, can take the sushka to the lab.

Rick's not sure if he's hoping that there is poison in the pastry or not. If there is, he and Beckett will have an additional trail to follow. But if there isn't, at least he'll know that a killer didn't breach the safety zone of Marlowe Prep.

Castle smiles as Alexis and Owen return with a paper lunch bag encasing the sushka. Ever the prepared parent, Rick pulls a packet of wipes out of his pocket and taking one to clean his own hands, offers them to the pair. "You never know what was on the feet that trod the floor where that thing landed." Rick satisfies himself that no trace of the suspicious filling will remain with himself or either teen.

* * *

"I should have known better than to take food from someone I didn't know," Mary Beth laments, twisting the hem of her skirt in the lounge of the 12th Precinct. "What if he had poisoned the children?"

"I was his target," Castle assures the distraught teacher. "I doubt the children were in any danger."

Kate holds up her phone with an image of Simon Badcock. "Was this the man who brought the _sushka_?"

Mary Beth nods vigorously. "That's him. If you know who he is, can you arrest him?"

We don't have a valid location on him, but we know where he may turn up," Kate responds. "In the meantime, we'll make sure that everyone who works at Marlowe Prep can recognize him in the unlikely event that he shows up again. Does the school have its own security?"

"We have one guard who keeps unauthorized people from wandering in during class time. The principal said she's going to extend his hours."

"Not a bad idea," Kate considers. "Out of caution, until the intruder is caught, the N.Y.P.D. will be putting a unit outside the school too."

"Maybe I should keep Alexis home for a while," Castle ponders after he and Kate escort a shaky Mary Beth to the elevator. "She could do her classwork online. They let her do that when she's sick."

"I doubt that Badcock will return to Marlowe, Castle. He'll know he'll be recognized. Alexis will probably be safer there than in most places. But I'm more worried about you. The lab says that there was lily extract in that _sushka_. It could have shut down your kidneys or killed you. Badcock could get lilies anywhere, especially around this time of year. We can't trace the poison the way we did with the blarina toxin. At least we got something out of that," Kate figures. "Phillip Larkin is Simon Badcock. He showed up on the video, picking up his package. I have surveillance on the shipping store. If he comes to pick up anything else, we've got him."

"That's a big if, Beckett."

"Yeah, Castle, I know, but we'll put out a BOLO on Badcock and release his picture to the media. Someone will know where to find him."

* * *

Badcock's palms sweat on the steering wheel as he makes the drive to upstate New York. When he picked up the papers for the library that morning, he stared into a photograph of his face. It wasn't a good picture, but he was recognizable. He immediately destroyed the papers in his hands, but that didn't address the thousands that would be all over the city. No doubt he's on television and the web, too.

If Castle hadn't dropped the _sushka_, the writer might be dead by now, with no clue as to what happened until someone performed an autopsy. By then, any evidence against Simon would have been long gone. Instead, he's running. At least he won't have to run far. He's only a few hours from his uncle's farm. Since the old man went to eldercare a few months before, the place has been abandoned.

Uncle Sid Morehouse is on Simon's mother's side of his family. It's unlikely that anyone will make the connection. Simon can stay at the farm while he builds another identity for himself. Sid's church teaches keeping at least a year's supply of food on hand. There will be canned goods in the cellar and staples in the pantry. Simon can survive until the search for him dies down, and he can build another identity for himself. Then he'll take care of Castle once and for all.


	11. Chapter 11

Poison Pen

Chapter 11

"Beckett, I've got something!" Ryan yells across the bullpen. "I've been checking the traffic cam footage around the shipping store at the time Badcock picked up his toxin. I've got a line on his car. I've been scrubbing the video of routes out of town, and I've got him headed upstate. The last time the camera caught him was on the route to Chenango County."

Castle rakes his fingers through his hair. "I was thinking about having a villain hole up in that area once. It's full of towns, villages, hamlets, and farms. That's a lot of territory to cover."

"So we narrow it down," Kate declares. "Badcock must have a reason for heading in that direction. Everything he does is tied somehow to the past. We dig into whatever we can find on him and his family history until we find the connection. Castle, Bruce is on vacation for a couple of weeks. You can use the computer on his desk. That's got to be easier than trying to search on your phone, and you'll have access to more databases.

"Won't I need his password?" Castle wonders.

"They're randomly generated," Kate explains. "I'll get Montgomery to have one assigned to you temporarily."

Castle cracks his knuckles and flexes his fingers. "Ready and eager to get started."

* * *

Kate wearily massages the knots at the back of her neck. "I can't find any public records about a Badcock in Chenango County. I looked in Albany County too. If the family is there, there's no sign of it. How about you, Castle?"

"I took advantage of the N.Y.P.D.'s access to public records the check Badcock's birth certificate. His mother's maiden name was Morehouse, so I've been looking for anything connected to that. I located a few businesses in the area that were once owned by Morehouses. The family seems to have moved on except for one farm, owned by a Sidney Morehouse. It's been in his name for 50 years. I haven't been able to find much on him. I was just getting into the archive of the local newspaper. Ooh! I've got hits. Apparently, until recently, Elder Sid, as they call him, was very involved in church activities. He held canning parties on his farm and hosted youth gatherings. According to this, he needed the extra support provided by a senior facility, but the deacons still call on him regularly at his new digs."

"Anything about what happened to the farm?" Kate wonders.

Castle's fingers fly over his keyboard. "Nothing. It's not listed for sale. Perhaps Sid couldn't bear to part with it."

"Or wanted to keep it in the family," Kate speculates.

"Either way, if Badcock wants to lay low, Sid Morehouse's farm would be a likely spot to go to ground," Castle remarks.

"I'll get the locals to check the place out," Kate decides. "Feel like a road trip if they find Badcock, Castle?"

"Alexis is staying with her friend Paige for a few days. I feel better with her out of the loft. The two of them are window shopping and consulting about a dress for Alexis to wear to the prom. The only thing she'll need me for is my credit card. I can take care of that when I get back, and I'd like nothing better than to look my would-be poisoner in the eye when you snap the cuffs on him."

"And I'll enjoy watching you do it, Castle."

* * *

Simon knows there's something wrong when he hears the rumble of vehicles coming up the road to Sid's farm. Peering through calico curtains, he sees several police SUVs approaching the house. He considers hiding in the cellar, but Sid's stash of food is no secret. With the half a brain the cops might have, they'll still be able to find Simon. He might be able to slip out the back way and conceal himself in the loft of the old barn. He wishes he had time to come up with one of the intricate plans that served him so well until monkey-wrenched by Castle's clumsiness. Still, a plan made on the fly is better than no plan at all. He runs for the door in the mudroom.

"He's got to be around here somewhere," Chief Morris declares after his officers have cleared the farmhouse. "His car is still out front, and he can't get far on foot. He'd have to go across the fields and be easy to spot. I want half of you to check the Chase and Rowell farms, and the rest of you search Sid's outbuildings."

* * *

Kate puts down her landline, satisfaction brightening her features. "Simon Badcock was on Sid Morehouse's farm. The cops searching the place found him crouched in the barn behind some bales of hay. Turned out he was allergic and couldn't stop sneezing.

Castle grins, smacking his palm on Kate's desk. "I wish I'd seen that! I'll have to write that scenario into a story. But it will have to happen to a villain who fancies himself invincible. It will make his downfall that much sweeter. So, where's Badcock now?"

"He's in holding in Norwich, the county seat."

"That's about a four-hour drive from here," Castle figures, looking at his watch. "We'd probably be driving back with him at night unless you want to start out tomorrow morning or stay over somewhere. I went to see Mother in a play once at the Martin Kappel Theater in Norwich. It's not a bad little town. A lot of businesses are headquartered there. I know because they bought ads in the Playbill. The hotels should be accustomed to accommodating VIPs."

"Staying over might not be a bad idea, Castle. I don't need VIP treatment, but I have no idea how long it's going to take to process Badcock into N.Y.P.D. custody. We could start on the paperwork first thing in the morning and have a unit come up to meet us and transport Badcock."

"Live a little, Beckett," Castle counsels. "If you're worried about Montgomery's budget, I'll spring for an upscale room for you. We can probably find a decent place to have dinner, too."

"Whether the department is paying or not, I'll still have to clear the trip with Montgomery. But if the captain OKs it, Castle, we've got a date."

A trip to fetch a killer wasn't exactly what Castle had in mind for a date with Beckett, but it will be a low-pressure start. He'll have plenty of time to check out the reviews and pick the restaurant and the hotel. In the back of his mind, Rick remembers seeing a cute little bed-and-breakfast, if it's still there. He and Beckett will be in separate rooms, of course, but at least they'll be under the same roof.

* * *

"If Castle is paying, you can stay anywhere you want, Beckett," Montgomery declares. "Just get that slimeball Badcock back here and the commissioner off my neck. A near-celebrity poisoning at a prestigious private school on top of a murder didn't play well with the brass. 1PP will be happier with Badcock behind bars. I'm sure Mr. Castle will be too."

"I'm sure he will," Kate agrees.

Once Badcock is safely put away, Castle will no longer have a reason to hang around the 12th Precinct, Kate muses silently. She's going to miss him — a lot. At least they'll have their trip to Norwich and share a real meal that isn't devoted to identifying a suspect. And who knows what might happen after that? Daydreams swirl through her mind.

A/N Guest, Mormons are not the only ones who keep a year's supply of food on hand. I can think of at least two other churches that do. I failed to be specific quite on purpose. I wasn't commenting on a particular religion, just on Simon's reason for choosing that retreat.


	12. Chapter 12

Poison Pen

Chapter 12

"You want me to drive?" Castle offers. "I noticed you were already stiff from hunching over your computer."

Breathing deeply, Kate rolls her head. "That's very sweet, Castle, but I can't let a civilian drive an official vehicle. You know that. I'll be fine."

"OK, but it won't matter what time we arrive, in case you want to stop along the way to stretch. We have guaranteed reservations. There's also an interesting restaurant that's open late, near our B&B."

"You're good at this, Castle."

"Planning road trips? Yeah. I used to do it for Mother and me when she took me along for weekend dinner theater. Back then, I was looking for the cheapest food and lodgings. We ran into some interesting people that Mother said she was going to internalize for future roles. I put aspects of some of them in my books, too. Planning is less of a challenge when you don't have to worry about stretching every penny, but I still enjoy it. There are always discoveries to be made and adventures to be had around the next bend."

Kate shakes her hair out of her face. "This case is already an adventure. I just want to make sure we get Badcock back to face charges in the city."

"I'd say that all work and no play would make Detective Beckett a dull girl, but I've never found you to be dull. Still, there's no reason having a little fun needs to interfere with your job," Castle insists.

"You may be right," Kate admits. "What kind of restaurant?"

Castle's brows ripple over the twinkle in his eyes. "The kind where you need lots of napkins."

* * *

As the manager unlocks the door of her room, Kate gazes appreciatively at a rustic four-poster bed, quilt and rag rug. It all looks — comfortable. She has a few minutes to get settled before meeting Castle downstairs. With the scanty contents of her overnight bag, it won't take her long.

Catching sight of herself in the wood-framed full-length mirror, she notes that her hair could use the touch of a brush. Her locks are almost perfectly straight, and she didn't bring a curling iron, but at least the strands have some shine. Why does she care? Castle's seen her drag herself out of her chair after hours at her computer, today, in fact. She couldn't have been looking sexy. Ooh! That's a loaded word.

After a quick touch-up, she regards herself again. She'll do. Damn! Of course, she will. Why wouldn't she?

* * *

Castle holds up two ties against his shirt, wishing Alexis could help him choose. Neither one is silk, With the inevitability that whatever he wears will end up spotted with deliciousness, the fruits of a caterpillar's labors would be wasted. Still, he wishes his color sense was better. With a quick eeny meeny miny, he makes his selection. After rapidly running a comb through his stylist's pride, he's as ready as he can be to meet Beckett for the short stroll to Hickory Smoked Heaven.

* * *

Closing her eyes, Kate savors the blend of sweet and sharp heightened by fragrant spices and herbs. Heaven is right. Castle was right about napkins, too. The sauce that clings to her feast of chicken and ribs also coats her mouth and migrates to her chin. She's not sure if Castle's gleeful description of the mess she's making is a tease or not. It doesn't seem to be. In truth, she's enjoying kicking back and soaking in the experience.

Rick can't help smiling at Beckett. Barbecue sauce isn't often regarded as titillating, except to the taste buds, but on the lips of the staunch detective, it's downright alluring. He reaches for his glass tumbler of icy lemonade. He should slow down a bit, maybe a lot. Even if he and Kate have been having a meeting of the minds over the Badcock case, if they're going to have a more personal relationship, this is only the beginning.

Corey, their server, approaches with a heavily loaded cart. "Interested in something to top off your evening?"

A choking sound emanates from Castle's throat. Oh, right. Corey is talking about dessert.

* * *

The walk back to the hotel goes much too quickly for Kate. Castle formally offered his arm and seemed a little surprised when she took it. She surprised herself. So far, their time together has been more about work than romance, but he's managed to create a few cracks in the wall she put around her heart after her mother was murdered. Castle knows more about her than Esposito or Ryan, and they've worked together for years.

Kate's also beginning to know the man behind the professional portrait on the dust jackets of his book. His concern for his daughter and his mother isn't what she expected, but she likes him for it. Maybe more than likes.

Beckett detaches herself from Castle's arm as he brings her to the door of her room, across the hall from his. "You'll probably have a busy morning coping with the local bureaucracy," Rick guesses.

"Probably so," Kate agrees.

"Turning in early?" Castle queries.

"I should, but I'm not sure I can. Keyed up, you know? We'll finally have our hands on Badcock. I'll earn some brownie points with Montgomery too."

"Is it important to you," Castle murmurs, "scoring kudos from your captain?"

"Not as important as knowing there won't be a psychopath after mystery writers. I really hated the thought of something happening to you, Castle. I kind of like having you around."

"You're not so bad yourself, Detective Beckett. So, if you're going to do your coply duty, I suppose we'd better say good night."

"Good night, Castle." Kate rises on her toes, her lips aiming for Castle's cheek, but somehow her mouth has a mind of its own. Their lips meet in a melding of heat and spice. Kate pulls back. "I shouldn't have done that. You're consulting on a case. It was unprofessional."

"The hell with professional, Kate. You can go back to dealing with the case in the morning. What do you want now?"

"What I want, Castle - doesn't matter. It's not right or smart, at least not tonight. Once Badcock is put away… I don't know. There's a lot I need to figure out. But for now, I'm going to my room, and you should go to yours."

Castle steps back. "Whatever you say, Detective Beckett. I'll see you in the morning. If the reviews are any indication, this place puts on a great spread. I'll meet you at breakfast."

"Meet you at breakfast," Kate repeats numbly as Castle turns toward his room. After unlocking hers, she leans against the inside of the door. Damn! That wasn't how she wanted things to go. She shouldn't have kissed him like that. She can still feel it, a lot lower than her lips. Maybe a shower will help — a long one under a stinging cold spray. Perhaps in the morning, she can mend some bridges. She hopes so."

* * *

Castle tosses between high thread count sheets under handmade wedding ring quilt. He wishes the crafter had chosen any other pattern. For a moment, the lightning that struck at his book party had once again jolted his system, before Beckett sent it to ground. Professional his ass. He's pretty sure her closing down had nothing to do with the case.

He knew she was wounded. He gets it. She's protecting herself. That doesn't make her reticence any less painful. Once Badcock is in N.Y.P.D. custody, Beckett will be inescapably with Rick for another long drive. Maybe they can talk things out. He hopes so.


	13. Chapter 13

Poison Pen

Chapter 13

After tearing apart a blueberry muffin, Kate isn't sure she wants to stick any of the pieces in her mouth. She can barely swallow sips of coffee, and the offer of strawberry waffles that would typically be tempting holds no appeal at all. Why did she do that?

If she'd just pecked Castle's cheek, or better still, shook his hand, she'd be fine. No, she wouldn't. She'd be obsessing about what she was thinking during almost the entire trip to Norwich — what it would be like to be with Castle. The moment her body briefly overruled her brain only made things worse. There was so much promise, so much everything in that kiss that it only left her wanting more, even as she pulled up her drawbridge.

She hears Castle's footsteps before he appears in the arch leading to the dining area. He gazes at the pile of crumbs on the small plate in front of her. "Checking for poison or planning on leaving a trail to a gingerbread house?"

"No, uh, I don't know. The muffin looked delicious. Everything here looks delicious. I'm just not hungry." Unable to meet his gaze, Kate stares at the ruined pastry, twisting her napkin. "Castle, I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Castle admits. "So maybe we both let what happened last night go for a while, at least until things are settled with Badcock."

"Let's do that," Kate agrees, relief streaming through her veins. "And I think I'll try to eat a few strawberries."

A corner of Castle's mouth twitches. "Me too, but I'm going to pile them on top of a waffle. From what I can see, this fine establishment offers real whipped cream, always a crowning touch. Or don't you like creamy goodness, Beckett?"

Kate moistens her too dry lips. "At the right time and place, I like it a lot, Castle."

* * *

"Are you kidding me?" Kate exclaims. "How long does it take to get a few signatures?"

"Pretty long, when the wife of the guy who does the signing went into labor last night," Sergeant Halsey, the gatekeeper at the Norwich facility, explains. "I sent someone over to the hospital, but I don't know how long it's going to take to get the new father's attention. I have your cell number. Why not visit the Classic Car Museum while you're waiting? You won't find anything like it, even in the big city." His gaze shifts to Castle. "Maybe you could put one of those cars in your books. Storm's Fords are great, but with him dead, a classic would add some pizzazz."

"It might at that," Castle concedes, "and I'm always pleased to meet a thoughtful reader. Any other suggestions?"

"Write anything except the old amnesia gag. They just pulled that on what, up to now, has been one of my favorite TV shows. I almost threw something at the screen."

Castle pulls his notepad out of the pocket of his shirt. "No amnesia. Got it!" He turns to Kate. "What do you think, Beckett? Want to go take in some heavy metal?"

Kate slowly expels a deep breath through tight lips. She'll have to tell the transport unit not to hurry. Their schedule is going to be screwed up too. At least looking around a museum will give her and Castle something to talk about besides what happened the night before. She's not close to ready to go into that yet.

* * *

"Wow! I didn't think a car museum would have airplane engines or the other non-automotive exhibits." Castle enthuses. "Too bad Mother didn't visit this place while she was doing her play. She would have loved the period clothes. She says that just the right costume supports her internal construction of a character — whatever that means. If the gift shop has photos of the collection, I'll get them for her. Maybe they have one of those glossy coffee table books." He stems his gush of words as he studies Kate's face. "What's that expression, Beckett?"

"Nothing. It's just that you're always looking for things for other people, whether it's coffee or pizza or room upgrades."

"And that bothers you?" Castle wonders.

"No, I think it's sweet, I just wonder where it comes from. From what you've told me about your childhood, you weren't exactly swimming in cash. I've met a lot of people, perps actually, who grab everything they can to make up for feeling deprived. You're not like that at all."

Castle lets out a staccato whistle. "For someone who wasn't in the mood to talk, that's a pretty deep question. So here's the thing. First of all, I didn't feel deprived, more like, for lack of a better word, unworthy."

Beckett's eyebrows close in on the middle of her forehead. "That doesn't sound like you. You hold court in the middle of a room full of people or go on Kimmel as if you have all the confidence in the world."

"Maybe mother passed on some of her acting genes," Castle speculates. "But Kate, the truth is, I always wondered if I was good enough to deserve anything. When I was little, I thought it was my fault that I didn't have a dad like the other kids, not even the every-other-weekend kind. And I believed it was my fault that my mother was always going away too. So I did everything I could to be worth something — to make people like me.

"I gave away the baseball cards that came with my gum. I didn't know anything about the game anyway. I made sure I had extra pencils to lend to kids who forgot one. I was even willing to trade the Ding Dongs in my lunch for jello."

"That was a sacrifice," Kate interjects. "I love Ding Dongs, even more than Twinkies."

Don't get me started on Twinkies," Castle warns. "They carry dangers all their own. But anyway, when I was older, and after a couple of years of therapy, I accepted, consciously at least, that I wasn't responsible for my parents' behavior. There was no way that anything I did made a father I'd never met desert mother and me. And she had to make a living, even if that meant leaving me with strangers.

"But in the meantime, I discovered that making other people happy is what turns me on. That goes for having fans like my books, but just as much for crafting the perfect latte or shelling out to make sure that Alexis has the dress she wants for the prom. And fortunately, I'm way beyond snack cakes and pencils. A visit to a museum gift shop doesn't leave much of a mark on my bank account but is the kind of little thing that brings disproportionate joy. Can you understand that, Beckett?"

"I think I can, Castle, and it makes me see you from a different angle."

"A good angle, I hope," As he watches Kate's teeth attack her lower lip, he feels a warning in his gut. "I'm sorry. We agreed that we weren't going to talk about that yet."

"But I think we just did," Kate confides. "We started anyway, and yes, a good angle, but I'm sorry. I still can't say more about it yet."

"I can accept that for now," Castle decides. "And I believe we've seen about everything this institution can offer. My feet certainly seem to think so. After I hit the gift shop, you want to find some lunch to make up for what you didn't eat at breakfast?"

"Sure, Castle, that would be great."


	14. Chapter 14

Poison Pen

Chapter 14

"Looks like you got your appetite back," Castle observes as Kate enthusiastically bites into a corned beef and sauerkraut panini.

"I have a feeling that any minute I'm going to get a call that the paperwork on Badcock is finished," Kate explains. "I didn't think we'd find a restaurant like this in Norwich and I want to finish my sandwich before we have to take off."

Castle taps the pocket holding his phone. "Never underestimate the eagerness of the dining public to share their experiences, especially when they're proud of a find. This place is billed as being like a Paris café. I might believe that if I'd never been to Paris. The serving sizes here are very American. But that makes it more appropriate to the moment. If your call comes before we can have dessert, I can get some incredible looking cookies to go. Might as well enjoy them on the drive back to the city."

"I saw the brownies," Kate acknowledges. "They do look amazing and…" Her cellphone sounds an alert. "The paperwork is signed," she reports, "and an officer is bringing it from the hospital to the holding facility. The ETA for the transport team is in about an hour. That should work out about right." Kate starts to push up from her chair.

"Hey, finish your lunch," Castle urges. "We're less than 20 minutes from where you'll need to be. There's even time to buy the brownies. I'll get extra for the transport team and the sergeant."

Kate smiles, rolling her eyes. "You're consistent, Castle. Just don't get any for Badcock."

"There wouldn't be any point, would there?" Castle responds. "I already know he doesn't like me."

* * *

A shackled and glaring Badcock is led from his cell to where Kate and Castle wait with the two cops assigned to take Rick's would-be poisoner back to New York. "This isn't over," he proclaims. "When I'm finished testifying, the whole world will know about the trash that writers like you, Castle, foist on an ignorant public."

"If I were you, I'd talk to my lawyer before declaring your opinion of writers in court," Castle advises. "But if you'd like to demonstrate how well you can write a confession, I'm sure the prosecutor would be more than willing to give you your chance."

Castle watches with satisfaction as Badcock is loaded into the car that will return him to New York City. "I guess we're done here, Beckett."

"I guess we are, Castle," Kate agrees, pulling the keys to her unit from her pocket. "Let's go."

* * *

"What's going on up there?" Castle wonders, spotting flashing lights and cars slowing to a halt, an hour into the drive to the city. "Beckett, I can get a traffic check on my cell unless you have access to something more official."

After braking to a stop, Kate checks an app on her own phone. "There's a jackknifed semi, and do you believe this? A load of metal fasteners spilled on the road. There are at least six cars with flats. The State Police are going to work to find a way for vehicles to get around the mess, but it's going to take a while. Unless they get the road completely cleared, there are going to be more blowouts. I hope the unit transporting Badcock made it past this point. I'll check." Kate speaks a few terse words into her cell and listens for a reply.

"Were they lucky?" Castle queries.

"They just made it," Kate reports. "They heard the accident behind them. They'll get Badcock to The Tombs. With any luck, he'll be arraigned in the morning."

"I hope we're back in time to watch. I intend to savor every minute of seeing Badcock under the steely eyes of the judge."

A laugh escapes Beckett's lips. "It will probably be the honorable Judith Brody Mencas who is more nearsighted than steely-eyed. But she rules her courtroom with an iron hand. I doubt she'll be impressed by anything Badcock has to say. She'll just want to get a plea and send him off to Rikers. And after the way he took off, I don't see her granting bail or house arrest."

"The proceedings are sounding like more fun by the minute. Hmm. A lot more cars are piling up behind us," Castle observes, "and nothing is showing any signs of moving."

"At least we've got the brownies you bought, to eat while we're waiting." Kate points out.

"There's something else we could do while we're waiting," Castle suggests. "Badcock is on the way to his just comeuppance, but he's not the only reason you're holding back. Tell me what's going on with you, Beckett. What do you see happening between us besides a convivial if sexually frustrating partnership?"

Kate taps her fingers on the steering wheel, before turning in her seat to face him. "Castle, do you know who my favorite character in Grease is?"

"I'm guessing that it's not the blonde and virginal Sandy."

"You're right. It's Rizzo. She sings the song about not being a tease. I got the point. Not, I mean, about high school promiscuity. I never thought teens sleeping around was a good idea."

"I'm sure your father would have been glad to know you weren't a fan of that," Castle asserts.

"You'd be right. But some of the girls I knew thought it was fun to get a guy hot and leave things there. I guess it was their way of asserting some kind of power or something. That was never my thing."

"I painfully remember the type," Castle confides. "But Beckett, Kate, if you were so set against schoolgirl games, why did you…?"

"Kiss you that way last night?" Kate finishes.

"That kiss was definitely more Rizzo than Sandy, which brings me back to my original question. What's going on with you, Kate?"

"Honestly, you scare the hell out of me, Castle."

"Kate, you could have me on the mat and crying uncle, if I had one, with one hand tied behind your back and ankle weights. How can I scare you?"

"Because you get to me. As you pointed out, I'm no Sandy, but no guy, whether I've slept with him or not, has ever picked up on me the way you do. It's like we have a Vulcan mind-meld or something."

"And you don't like it?"

"I do. It's amazing. But it's like riding a roller coaster. The experience is terrifying, but somehow, I keep going back to Coney Island for another ride. Last night the terror won out for a second, especially with Badcock still hanging over our heads. But that doesn't mean I won't want to give it another shot."

"When Kate? How? You want me to buy tickets on the Cyclone?"

"Castle, Rick, one thing at a time, OK? Let's get back to the city. Once Badcock is arraigned, we won't be working together anymore. We'll have to see where things go."

"But I like working with you, Kate. I'm good at it, and I'm using what I learn in my new book. My heroine is based on you. Maybe Montgomery will let me keep shadowing you for research. Would a man with a tight budget turn down free labor?"

"I honestly don't know Castle, and it could be, um, you know, awkward. But after Badcock is hauled off, I can ask. So, what's this heroine of yours like?"

"She's beautiful, and she's smart, and she likes solving weird homicides. You'd like Nikki Heat."

"Whoa! Wait, Castle. Heat as in sex?"

"Kate, I appreciate the way your mind works, but no. Heat is a synonym for police, like in the film with DeNiro and Pacino. But Nikki is sexy, too. I based her on you. She couldn't be anything else.


	15. Chapter 15

Poison Pen

Chapter 15

"The sun's starting to come up," Castle observes as Kate drops him in front of the Broome Street building.

"We have a few hours before court convenes, Castle. You could grab some sleep," Kate suggests.

"Are you going to?" he queries.

"Maybe a little bit if I'm lucky. Montgomery is in by eight, and I need to brief him. I'll call you if I find out when Badcock's going to court. I'm going to ask the A.D.A to tell me when he's scheduled. If the judge has a full docket, it could be late today or even tomorrow. If it is, I'm going to try to crash for a while."

"How about asking Montgomery about letting me hang around?" Castle wonders.

"Let's see Badcock arraigned, first, then I'll put the idea to him."

"Promise?"

"Yeah. Just hurry up and get your butt into bed."

Castle grins at her. "Under other circumstances, I'd like the sound of that. See you later, Detective."

* * *

Kate lets herself into her apartment and quickly covers the short distance to her bedroom. Tossing her overnight bag in a corner to unpack later, she sheds her clothes and reaches for the N.Y.P.D. T-shirt under her pillow. She's not sure why she took a silky nightdress with her to Norwich instead of her usual choice of sleep gear. Not that it made a difference. Maybe, subconsciously she was wishing…" It doesn't matter now. The familiar comfort of the well-worn cotton will help her relax as much as possible. She slips between the sheets, hoping that exhaustion can keep the images attempting to invade her consciousness, at bay.

* * *

The alert he set for a call from Kate, immediately penetrates Rick's restless slumber. Propping himself up against the tufted leather headboard of his bed, he grabs for the phone. "Castle, Badcock's on Judge Mencas' docket today, but the A.D.A. isn't sure when he'll come up. If you don't want to miss anything, you should be waiting for the doors of the courtroom to open at nine. I'll meet you there."

Kicking away a sheet and blanket, Rick sits straight up. "I'll be there with bells on, Beckett."

Castle can hear the smile in Kate's voice as she cautions: "Better leave the bells at home. Judge Mencas likes order in her court."

"Roger that," Castle replies. "See you there."

* * *

Castle smothers a groan as yet another case that isn't Badcock is called before the court. He and Kate have been waiting almost three hours, and if Badcock isn't called soon, Mencas will probably adjourn for lunch. Idly, he wonders how TV courtroom dramas fit everything into the 42 minutes that isn't taken up by commercials. But then, it would be hard to air the real thing without losing the audience to boredom or disgust. At least Mencas moves cases along briskly.

As Badcock is finally called, Rick can feel Kate leaning forward in her seat, beside him. "How do you plead, Mr. Badcock?" Judge Mencas asks after the mandatory readings by the clerk.

"Your Honor," a young man in an ill-fitting suit, addresses the bench, "George Kirby for the defense. My client, Mr. Badcock, pleads not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect."

"Mr. Kirby, I take it that you are aware that plea requires an affirmative defense?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Kirby confirms.

"Very well," Mencas agrees. "The plea is entered. The trial date will be set to accommodate the appropriate examinations and discovery by the defense and the people. And I see that we're into the lunch hour. Court will be adjourned until 1:15 p.m."

"What's going to happen now?" Castle asks as Kate's fingernails dig into her palms.

"Kirby is going to try to prove that Badcock is crazy — by the legal definition. That means both sides will have to present evidence. Kirby will have some expert swear that Badcock didn't have the capacity to understand what he was doing was wrong, and the A.D.A will still have to prove that Badcock committed murder and tried to kill you."

Closing his eyes, Castle shakes his head. "It sounds like this case could go on for a long time."

"Yeah, Castle, it could. But at least Badcock will be locked up, one way or another, while it does."

"Kate, I was expecting to open a 50-year-old bottle of Scotch today to celebrate. But in view of what just happened, I think I'll use it more for consolation. Can you join me, or do you have to go back to the precinct?"

"Montgomery isn't expecting me back today. The last thing he needs is for me to run up any more overtime. And I could use a drink."

* * *

Castle pours two fingers each of single malt for himself and Kate and raises his glass. "To the Sixth Amendment."

"Right. A speedy trial. I'm all for that," Kate agrees, "but Castle, do you still want me to ask Montgomery to let you shadow me while we wait however long for the Badcock case to be settled."

Castle swallows half the contents of his glass. "Of course, Kate. I still want to research my book, and I still want to work with you. And if I let Badcock control my life, either of our lives, he wins. Whether he ends up in jail or a psychiatric facility, I'm not about to let that happen. Are you?"

Kate downs most of her own whiskey, grimacing and swaying. "Wow! That has quite a punch, especially on an empty stomach. But no, I'm not. I'll talk to Montgomery tomorrow."

"Thanks, and I'm a lousy host. I should have at least provided a traditional salty snack to soak up the alcohol."

Kate shrugs. "It would have ruined the drama of the moment, but never mind the snack. I don't suppose you have any sandwich makings?"

"To provide a writer's sustenance while sweating over a hot keyboard? It's required. Cold cuts or PB&J? I have rye bread and a loaf of that squeezable white that Alexis claims has negative nutritive value."

"Definitely, the PB&J on white," Kate decides.

* * *

"Castle," Kate asks, finishing her sandwich, leaning against the pillows of the couch with her feet up on the coffee table next to his, "does Nikki Heat have a love interest, a boyfriend or something?"

"She's no nun, but there's no strong attachment either. I did, however, create a male character, Jameson Rook, an intrepid reporter. He might be on the way to becoming her love interest. I'll have to see how things go."

"Rook, not exactly subtle, Rick Castle. But given that except when they're castling, rooks only move in straight lines, not a real match to your personality either."

"A mystery story isn't a chess game, Kate. Neither is life. Badcock's plea today was a case in point. People can move any which way in unexpected directions. I don't know the steps to the dance between Heat and Rook, yet. I'll have to figure them out as I go along. Or we'll have to figure out what they do, together."

"You know what I want to do right now?" Kate inquires, topping off her question with a loud yawn.

"What?" Rick asks.

Kate's eyes drift shut as her head settles on Rick's shoulder. "Sleep. I want to go to sleep." Rick glances down at her, inhaling the hint of fragrance her shampoo left in her hair. "In that case, consider me your pillow."


	16. Chapter 16

Poison Pen

Chapter 16

A comfortably worn leather surface slides beneath Kate's fingers as she slowly opens her eyes. She's on a couch in Castle's loft, with a furry throw covering her fully dressed body. Castle's sitting in a nearby chair with his laptop across his thighs. He looks up at the sound of her movement. "Have a good nap?"

Kate rubs at dry eyes. "How much Scotch did I drink?"

"Not that much. You didn't even finish the two fingers in your glass. You were just wrung out. We both were, but I didn't spend a night behind the wheel of a police unit. I got to snooze a little in the passenger seat. And by the way, the seats in your car have seen better days. There's a spring on the passenger side that hits me — never mind. Do you want some water or something? I always do when I fall asleep with peanut butter on my tongue."

"I'm fine, Castle. You're in the middle of writing."

"I could do with a break," he confesses, rubbing the stubble darkening his face. "Nikki just accidentally kicked Rook in the jaw."

"And you felt it?"

"Usually, I just visualize a scene that I'm writing, but sometimes my imagination gets the better of me. If I recall your choices from the vending machine, you have a preference for unadorned, unflavored, enhancement free H2O." Castle lays his computer on a nearby table and heads for the kitchen. "Be right back."

Kate downs half of the bottle of water Castle hands her when he returns and catches sight of her watch. "Midnight. I should get home."

"We took the subway from the courthouse, and this time of night, you might have to wait an hour for a train unless you want me to take you. The easiest thing for both of us would be if you stay until the schedule picks up again in the morning."

"Castle…"

"Kate, I have a guest room. We wouldn't even be on the same floor or using the same bathroom. No hanky-panky. I can even give you a fresh toothbrush. And you can peruse my bookcases for something to amuse yourself until you can fall back asleep."

"If I stay, I'm at least making breakfast in the morning," Kate declares.

"I'm looking forward to the gastronomic adventure."

* * *

It's January, but the Christmas lights are still up. Jim Beckett hasn't been able to focus long enough to think about taking them down, and every time Kate reaches for a string, a spark burns her fingers. Mom will know what to do. Mom always knows what to do. Kate should call her at the office. When she dials the number, the out-of-service signal assaults her ears before being interrupted by maniacal laughter and a chilling pronouncement. "She'll never answer again, and you'll never know why."

Even with Alexis out of the house, Castle sleeps with a parent's ears, alert on some unconscious level for a cry in the night. Beckett's wail immediately shocks him awake. He runs barefoot across the great room and takes the stairs to the guest room two at a time. "Kate!"

In the dim city light pushing through the curtains, Rick can see the glimmer of moisture on Kate's cheeks as her head flails against her pillow. He pushes back the strands of hair clinging to her face. "Kate, wake up."

The searing voice fades as Kate hears Rick calling to her. Slowly, her damp lashes lift to reveal him sitting on the edge of the bed, his face a mask of concern. "I'm OK. It was just a bad dream."

"It must have been one hell of a nightmare. Want to tell me about it?" Castle asks. "It can help. When Alexis was little, she used to have them sometimes when her mother showed up for a while and then vanished again. She would dream that I would leave her too, but we talked until she realized I wasn't going anywhere. Kate, if you need a friendly ear, I'm not going anywhere now, either."

"It was about my mother, sort of," Kate confides. "The detective who investigated her murder, John Raglan, chalked it up to random gang violence, but I never believed that. My mother was always pissing off someone when she fought for her clients. I tried for years to prove that Raglan was wrong, that she was targeted, but I never got anywhere. Over a third of murders are never solved. After years of trying, I convinced myself that my mom's would be one of them."

"So, you never got any real closure," Castle murmurs, taking her hands. "Buried somewhere deep in your mind, it's the case you're still trying to solve. When did you stop actively investigating?"

"Seven years ago."

"That's a long time, Kate. You know better than I do that there are a lot of tools around now that weren't around then. I can think of a couple that a consultant I use came up with for my books. If you want to try again to get some answers, I can help you."

"Castle, you don't have to do that."

"I know. I don't have to; I want to. Kate, you give peace to the loved ones of so many victims. You deserve a little yourself."

"You know, Castle," Kate muses, "I was only going to make eggs for breakfast, but now I'm going to make waffles. You have a waffle iron, don't you?"

"Top of the line. So, do I take your surge of culinary industriousness as a yes?"

"It's a yes if I can talk Montgomery into letting you keep working with me."

"I have faith in your abilities," Castle declares. "Especially if you make bacon to go with the waffles."

* * *

Montgomery stares up at the detective who has planted herself firmly in front of his desk. "Now let me get this straight. Castle wants to follow you around researching a book with the main character based on you. And in exchange, he'll be helping solve cases and giving the department access to his considerable resources."

"He'll also be drumming up some good PR for the department, Sir," Kate adds. "He might even give the N.Y.P.D. a plug on Kimmel. The brass may like that enough to shake loose a few more bucks for our budget."

"And how about our investigations, Beckett? You'll be tripping over a civilian. Ryan and Esposito probably will too."

"Ryan and Esposito are on board, Sir," Kate assures the captain.

"They're probably afraid Castle will take back his fancy coffee machine if he has to leave," Montgomery mutters. "All right, Beckett. He can be your shadow on a probationary basis. But if he gets in the way or blows a case, he's out of here. And I want to see him on Kimmel. And find out if he can get on Ellen, too. The commissioner's wife loves that show. If she's in a good mood about Castle, her husband will be too."

"Yes, Sir. I'll see what he can do about Ellen. Oh, and one more thing, Sir. Castle invited you to a poker game at his loft tonight. The mayor will be there and Judge Markway, too. He signs off on a lot of our warrants, and he and Castle play golf together."

"Castle's not making it easy to say no, is he? Well, Evelyn is going to be putting together a presentation for work tonight while the kids are spending the evening with her mother. She doesn't need me in her hair. Are you playing, Detective?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Fine. I'll see you there."


	17. Chapter 17

Poison Pen

Chapter 17

Struggling with whether to put out his good Scotch for the poker game, Castle decides that it's worth the sacrifice. He can always get more booze, but he's only got one shot to keep working with Kate. He's not going to blow it.

She said that she's coming over as soon as she finishes her shift, which will give them some time to talk strategy before the other players show up. Castle always plays to win, and Kate confessed to him that she's the same. A head-to-head match would be fascinating, but that's for another day — or night.

Alexis is back, but she'll be up in her room studying, especially if she gets her share of chips and salsa to take with her. Castle picked up both from the neighborhood Mexican restaurant that fries chips fresh and makes its own dip. The stuff has no preservatives and won't keep, but there are never any leftovers anyway.

Mayor Bob Weldon is a good sport, but Kate doubts that Montgomery will be happy walking away empty-handed. Castle trusts her judgment. Markway is more interested in beating Castle on the golf course than at the poker table, and Rick might blow a putt or two during their next game.

The rap on the door signals Kate's arrival. Rick wishes he could give her a key, but it's too soon — way too soon. Hell, they haven't even shared another kiss yet. Maybe… Damn! He can't afford to think about that, at least until after the completion of Operation Beaming Bossman.

When he opens the door, Rick is frozen in place, staring at Kate. She obviously took the time to ditch her work clothes, showing up in a T-shirt and jeans that cling lovingly to her curves. Her hair is up in a pert ponytail, and her feet encased in spike-heeled booties that enhance the length of her perfectly shaped legs.

Kate's eyebrows rise. "Can I come in, Castle?"

"Oh. Yeah. Of course." Stepping back, he waves her inside.

Kate drops the leather bag that serves her as a purse and tote, on a chair. "Montgomery announced today that he's going to have to approve all overtime in advance. That's going to be a pain in the ass if we're in the middle of chasing down a lead, and he knows it. He looked pretty grim. I think money must be even tighter than usual."

"It is almost the end of a quarter, fiscally speaking," Castle points out. "That's usually when pain sets in, just about anywhere. Black Pawn always gets twitchy around this time. But Montgomery's distress just makes things better for us, right? He'll enjoy some of my best pain killer and be looking forward to looser purse strings."

"I hope you're right, Castle. So how are we going to do this? A signal or something?"

"How good a cop is Montgomery? I mean, how good was he as a street cop before he ended up stuck behind a desk?" Castle wonders.

Kate shrugs. "I've only known him as a captain, but I heard he was a good detective. He moved up pretty fast."

"And you detectives read signs, body language, don't you?"

"We have to," Kate agrees. "If we can't figure out when someone is lying to us, we'll go down all sorts of blind alleys, or end up dead. From what I've seen, you're not bad at it either."

"As a writer, I have to describe behavior. I can't do that if I don't know what it looks like. But my point is, if we try to send any signals to each other, Montgomery will pick up on them. Is there anything subtle Montgomery does when he's pleased with himself?"

Kate fingers her lower lip. "The only thing I've seen is that he leans back in his seat."

Castle snaps his fingers. "That's perfect! I'll give him a comfortable enough chair to exaggerate that, so it will be obvious to both of us if he does it. Then, if we have lousy hands, we can play them out, but if we have anything halfway decent, we fold. Maybe you could excuse yourself to go freshen up, and I can offer to get more drinks or something. Markway or Weldon might get the pot, but if we stay with the plan, Montgomery will have the edge."

I don't remember you describing anything like this in your books," Kate notes.

"That's because I didn't. If Storm needed to fix a game, he'd straight-up cheat, with special lenses, marked cards, or a hidden camera. But we'll just be giving Montgomery a nudge to win under his own power. If he doesn't get the cards, there's nothing we can do about it, I mean unless you want to go down and dirty. I know a card mechanic who worked Atlantic City until the casinos threw him out. He helped me sketch out a character once, and can always use an extra buck. I could try to get him over here."

"With two cops and a judge at the table, Castle? I think we'll go with the original plan."

"Roger that."

* * *

The last to leave except for Kate, a grinning Roy Montgomery extends his hand to Castle. "It's been a pleasure, Rick, and I look forward to seeing you at the precinct tomorrow."

"Bright and early, Sir," Castle responds.

"Good, you can show me your special tricks with that coffee machine."

"That would be my pleasure, Sir."

Rick and Kate collide in a hug as soon as the door closes behind Montgomery. Kate's eyes flash green. "I think we really got him on board. He didn't even bring up Kimmel or Ellen."

"I had Paula call their bookers anyway. Turns out, Ellen is staging a workshop to help her fans who aspire to be writers. I should fit right in as a presenter. And I can play in Jimmy Kimmel's charity golf tournament. That will get me on camera for the few seconds it will take to plug working with the N.Y.P.D. We've got this knocked, Kate, as long as I can keep from messing up a case."

"You haven't messed up so far, Castle. I had a tête à tête with Alexis, and she suggested that I give you a kick in the shins if you seem to be drifting into trouble."

"That's always worked for her," Castle acknowledges, "but maybe you could just whisper sweet warnings in my ear."

"I could do that. Look, it's getting late. I'll help you clean up before I go."

"Ah, the perfect guest." Rick strokes his knuckle over her cheekbone. "The perfect everything."

Kate brushes her fingertips over his mouth. "Rick, I want …, but Alexis is in the house."

Rick shakes his head. "The timing never seems to be right, does it?"

"No, it doesn't, Kate agrees. "But it's been a good night, Castle. I'm going to catch a cab home. There should still be plenty of them out there."

"The doorman, Eduardo, is an ace at whistling one down," Castle remarks.

"Great. And the next murder case that comes up, we'll knock Montgomery's socks off," Kate declares.

"We can get started on your mother's case too. I'll pass on a copy of her file to one of the best M.E.s in the country. If whoever performed the autopsy missed something, he'll find it."

"Thanks, Castle."

Rick presses a kiss to her forehead. "We're going to make this work, Kate. We're going to make everything work."


	18. Chapter 18

Poison Pen

Chapter 18

Swallowing hard, Kate pulls a thin file from the bottom drawer of her desk and hands it to Castle.

Wincing at the photograph of a bloodied Johanna Beckett lying in a littered alley, Rick rapidly flips through the pages. "This is everything?"

Kate sighs, gritting her teeth. "I told you that Raglan dismissed the case as random violence. There was almost no investigation. By the time I got through the academy, the trail was ice cold. If your magical M.E. can't find something, it still will be."

Castle studies the meager contents of the folder. "At least the M.E. who was originally on the case took good pictures. Did you or your friend Lanie ever talk to him?"

"He passed away not long after he did the autopsy. His assistant had to dig through his notes to put together the report and get a supervisor to sign off."

"Kate," Rick inquires gently, "what happened to your mother's body?"

'It's in the cemetery." Moisture glints in Kate's eyes. "My father and I ordered a headstone with her favorite thing to say, 'Vincit omnia veritas,' on it. I think it gave him some comfort that she would still proclaim what she believed even after death. For a while, when I visited her grave, it made me feel better to see it."

Castle scrubs a hand over his freshly shaved face. "If I recall the Latin that was forced down my throat at boarding school, that phrase means truth conquers all things."

"Uh-huh," Kate confirms.

"But it doesn't make you feel better to see it anymore. Why?"

"Maybe because I don't believe it anymore. I've nailed so many scumbags, just to see them squirm out of going to prison on a technicality. And look at what happened with Badcock. We had him cold, Castle, but it may be years, if ever before he pays for what he's done. The truth didn't conquer anything."

"Give it time, Kate. You never know what's going to happen, and I…"

"Beckett," Montgomery calls from the doorway of his office, "I need to talk to you. You might as well come too, Castle."

"What is it, Sir?" Kate asks, walking into the captain's office. "Is there a body?"

Montgomery shakes his head. "I hope not. It's a kidnapping, and before you say anything, I know you've been sticking to homicides. But the feds have jurisdiction on this one, and the FBI agent in charge has requested you to work on the case. As I recall, you've worked together before."

Kate can feel her hands go cold. "Are you talking about Will Sorenson? Sir…"

Montgomery holds up his hand. "I know there was some personal stuff between you two, which obviously didn't work out well. But he wants you, and if we want to keep the feds from trampling all over our business, we need to keep a good relationship with them. You're assigned to the case. You'll have Castle with you to serve as a buffer if you need one."

"Nice to know I'm good for something," Rick mutters.

"The victim is a 2-year-old little girl, Angela Candela." Montgomery continues. You have a daughter, Castle. You might have some insights into the child's behavior. Beckett, I'm sending the details to your phone. You'll be meeting Sorenson at the Candela's apartment."

* * *

"Before we get to the scene, you want to tell me about Will Sorenson?" Castle asks as Kate drives.

"There's not much to tell," Kate insists. "He and I met working another kidnapping. We dated for about six months. He was transferred to Boston. I stayed in New York. End of story."

"Not from the look on your face, but can you at least tell me if you got the kidnapper last time around?"

Kate's hands tighten on the wheel. "We got him."

"But?"

"Not before he killed the child. Sorenson was in charge of dropping off the ransom. We caught up with the kidnapper after Will made the drop, but it was too late. He pegged Will as a fed and strangled the little boy as twisted revenge."

"And you and Sorenson shared grief over what happened."

"I guess you could call it that. But he managed to convince himself that catching the kidnapper was some kind of success. I couldn't see it that way. All I could see was that broken little body in the back seat of the kidnapper's car. Will was ready to put that death behind him. That's why he took the position in Boston. He asked me to follow him there, but I couldn't do it. I don't think I even wanted to."

"Sounds like he's hoping to get together with you again," Castle suggests.

"That's not going to happen," Kate declares. "I want to get Angela back, alive and well, but that's all I want. Here. This is the building. The Candelas are on the first floor."

"The most vulnerable place to be," Castle observes. "Someone could break a window that looks down on the alley and climb right in. If it were my apartment, I'd at least put in bars or shutters to protect Alexis."

"Yeah," Kate considers. "I wonder why the Candela's didn't. Depending on how Will is running this thing, I may get a chance to ask."

* * *

"Kate," Will Sorenson greets Beckett in the living room of the Candelas' condo. Sorenson's eyes sweep up and down Castle's 2-inch taller frame. "And this must be Richard Castle. Your captain told me to expect him. Apparently, the N.Y.P.D. is helping writers play cops and robbers now."

"I'm not playing anything," Castle retorts. "As a father, I find Angela's kidnapping deadly serious. I would hope that you would as well. I'm here to observe and help in any way that I can."

"Of course," Sorenson agrees hastily. "I don't see how you can help, but you can take your notes. Just stay out of the way."

"I want to talk to the Candelas," Kate insists.

Sorenson nods toward a couch. "They're right over there."

Castle regards the couple sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. "Not exactly giving each other comfort," he whispers to Kate.

"Theresa and Alfred Candela?" Kate inquires, not waiting for an answer. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett from the N.Y.P.D. I'll be working on getting your daughter back. I know you've already talked to the FBI, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened. The tiniest detail could make a difference."

"I leave early in the morning to go to work, before my husband and Angela get up. Go ahead, Alfred," Theresa demands, "tell the detective how you were painting with music blasting in your ears when you should have been watching our daughter."

Castle's eyes flit from one Candela to another. They're definitely not a happy couple.

* * *

With Castle at her elbow, Kate approaches Will as he checks the monitoring of the Candelas' phone. "Did you get a preliminary forensics report? Any fingerprints?"

Sorenson shakes his head. "None. There was some trace, but it just looks like New York City dirt."

"I don't get it," Castle declares. "Two-year-olds aren't the most agreeable beings. If someone had tried to grab my daughter at that age, she would have screamed bloody murder. Even listening to music in his studio, Alfred should have heard Angela crying out. And Theresa seems more interested in blaming her husband than getting her daughter back. Something about their story stinks."

"Castle has a point," Kate insists. "With Alfred in the next room, a stranger shouldn't have been able to just take Angela."

"Unless it wasn't a stranger," Castle proposes. "Angela might have gone with someone she knew, especially if she expected to get a treat or have fun."

"Right," Kate acknowledges. "And someone familiar to the girl would know the layout of the Candelas' place. We need to check out anyone Angela would regard as a friendly face, and we need to do it fast."

A/N Fun fact for The Rookie watchers. The actor, Julian Acosta, who played Alfred Candela, played the guard, Hernandez, in the most recent episode of The Rookie.


	19. Chapter 19

Poison Pen

Chapter 19

The sound of Theresa Candela's cell spurs the FBI agents into action, and the agent at the monitoring board points at her to pick up. "I have your daughter," an electronically disguised voice announces. "To get her back, you will have to pay $700,000. You have 48 hours to liquidate your assets. You'll be receiving instructions on how to deliver the money." The call cuts off before Theresa can respond.

"Did you get a trace?" Sorenson demands of his agent.

"Looks like VOIP, sir. No trace."

"Except for our condo, $700,000 is all we have," Theresa exclaims.

"But Angela is worth more," Alfred insists. "We'll pay it, won't we, Theresa?"

Theresa twists her fingers into the fabric of her dress. "If we can. It will be difficult to get the cash that quickly."

"Do you have anyone who can help you," Sorenson queries, "a lawyer or an accountant?"

"Theresa's sister Nina can do it," Alfred declares. "She's a CPA and handles all our investments."

"You mean my investments, Alfred," Theresa spits out. "I earned every penny we put into them. Whatever you get for your paintings doesn't even cover the cost of what you splatter on canvas and call art."

"We agreed that I'd be the one here for our daughter," Alfred argues.

"But you weren't Alfred, were you? And now she's gone, and it will take everything I worked for to get her back — if we get her back."

"You don't have time to argue," Kate interjects. "To get Angela back safely, every minute counts."

"And you may not lose your money," Sorenson adds. "We can grab the kidnapper at the drop."

"Agent Sorenson, a word?" Kate requests, pointing toward the kitchen. "Will, I'm not seeing another kid die because you're grandstanding. Catching the kidnapper is not a priority. The Candelas will pay the money, and we'll get Angela back. Then we'll worry about rounding up suspects."

Sorenson shakes his head. "Kate, you know as well as I do that kidnappers kill victims whether they get the ransom or not. We'll do our best to make sure we get Angela back alive, but we're going to be on top of the drop every step of the way."

The door to the kitchen swings back as Castle strides in. "I thought the Candelas could use some coffee, but shouldn't we be pursuing the investigation while Theresa and her sister get the money together?"

"We, doesn't mean you, Castle," Sorenson retorts.

Rick looks toward Kate. "Detective Beckett, then. There were some things you were going to look into."

"Yes, I was," Kate agrees.

"Kate," Castle whispers as they leave Sorenson behind in the kitchen, "I checked out where Theresa works on her LinkedIn page. She's pretty high up at her firm. Then I looked for chatter about the dealings there, on Yahoo Finance. There were rumors that a top executive might be skimming, and Theresa is in a position to do it."

"What, Castle, you think Theresa is an embezzler? What would that have to do with kidnapping Angela?"

"Nothing, if it's a real kidnapping, but you've agreed that things don't add up. And now, Theresa's sister will be conveniently handling getting the ransom money together. What if Theresa and Alfred are looking to make a new start, preferably somewhere with no extradition treaty with the U.S.?"

"You think Alfred is in on a plan with Theresa? They can't stand each other."

"Or they put on a good act. Think about it, Kate. They stage Angela's kidnapping. All they have to do is break a window they've conveniently left unprotected. Angela is with a trusted friend or relative, possibly one who will be remunerated for their part in the scheme. The Candelas liquidate their holdings and collect the receipts free and clear as the ransom. Chances are the condo has a huge mortgage. They walk away from that, take Angela, and go set up family housekeeping on some pleasant isle. It would be the perfect escape to paradise. Theresa could kick back, and Alfred could play Gauguin."

"That's some story, Castle. But even if it's true, we need to start at the beginning. We run background on Nina and anyone else close enough to the Candelas to be involved. We have two days. Will and his people will be checking every lead they have. We do the same."

"Kate, we just left your mother's case hanging. The copy you gave me of the file is in your unit, and I saw a FedEx drop box in the strip mall we passed two blocks down. Those things stock the shipping forms and materials. It would only take me a few minutes overnight an envelope to Dr. Murray, my M.E."

"Dr. Clark Murray? Didn't you call him Dr. Death in the acknowledgments in your books?"

"You read the acknowledgments? Never mind. Yes, Dr. Death, but he might breathe new life into your investigation. What do you say?"

"Do it, Castle. I doubt that Sorenson will care where you are, but if he asks, you just stepped out to get some air."

"Actually, you can tell him that I went to get doughnuts for everyone. There's a Drink and Dunk in that strip mall too. Glazed, jelly, or maple bars?"

"Surprise me, Castle, but don't get any with sprinkles."

"Why?"

"Because Will ate them all the time on stakeouts. He loves them."

Castle grins. "No sprinkles."

* * *

"Hear anything while I was gone?" Castle asks Kate, as he props open a huge doughnut box on the kitchen counter.

"I had Ryan and Esposito run the Candelas. If he's doing his job, Sorenson probably ran them too, but Ryan came up with something Will's people wouldn't have found. When Kevin was working Narcotics, he ran across a drug operation run by a Henry Candela. They brought down the operation but never had enough to nail Henry. Turn's out, Henry is Alfred's uncle, and he's rumored to have overseas connections. He could easily help them get comfortably settled in any number of places. Esposito also looked up Nina Mendola, Theresa's sister. She's clean, but The Mendolas are a large family, and Angela could be with any of a half dozen cousins or even a grandmother. You want to come with me to check them out?"

"And get away from Sorenson, you better believe it! But I want to check in with Alexis later. Mother has finished the run of her play, and she'll be around the loft, but I feel a need right now to stay in huggable contact with my daughter."

"I can understand that, Castle. We can stop by when she gets home from school."

"Thanks, Kate. I'd appreciate that."

* * *

Castle surveys a house on Staten Island. "This is a great place for kids. It looks like there are front and backyards. They could put up a swing set and a jungle gym back there. Of course, at Angela's age, a kiddy pool would be more of an attraction, and she would love room to run around. So how do we do this, just knock on the door?"

"We can be a bit more creative than that, Castle. We knock on neighbors' doors and say that there's a little girl who's gone missing, which is true enough. Then we ask if they or their kids have seen any new little girls around the neighborhood. And while we're at it, we ask which house would be most attractive to a lost child. That will give us an excuse to go see the Mendola cousin."

"Kate, that's brilliantly sneaky!" Castle congratulates her. "I love it!"


	20. Chapter 20

Poison Pen

Chapter 20

Libby Gleib strokes her fingertips over the curling white hairs sprouting from her chin. "A missing child! That's terrible, just terrible. I don't know why parents these days don't keep better track of their youngsters. I always had an eye on my children, I can tell you. But I haven't seen a two-year-old in the neighborhood. For most of us, even our grandchildren are older than that. The Mendolas, down at the corner, are a younger family, but their kids are past that stage. They just took the play equipment out of their backyard and replaced it with a spa, a fire pit, and some of that outdoor furniture that's more expensive than what you put in your living room. I don't think they'd want little ones climbing all over it. Really, I wish I could help, but I don't believe that poor little girl is anywhere around here."

Kate pulls a card from the pocket of her blazer and extends it to Libby. "Thank you for your time Ms. Gleib. Please, if you hear or see anything, give me a call."

"I will certainly do that," Detective Beckett. "And it was nice to meet you, Mr. Castle. I've never been much into mysteries except for Harry Kemelman's rabbi books, but one of my daughters enjoys yours very much."

"Nice to know, Ms. Gleib," Castle smiles, nodding, "I appreciate every one of my readers."

Castle shakes his head as he and Kate descend the steps from the Gleib porch. "Looks like a dry hole, Kate."

"This neighborhood was only our first stop, Castle," Kate reminds him. "We have a lot more of Theresa's relatives to check out. We'll hit the house in Brooklyn, and by the time we get back to Manhattan, Alexis should be home from school. We can go by your loft long enough for you to check on her, and your mother too."

"Very perceptive, Kate. You know once Mother gave a party, and I found lime shards embedded in the wallpaper. She said the blender exploded. How does a blender explode? Anyway, thanks."

* * *

"This is an interesting neighborhood," Castle remarks, studying the row houses in Brooklyn. Our Lady of Grace is only a block away from Temple B'nai Abraham, and there's a _taqueria_ two doors down from a kosher butcher. It's quintessential New York. I love the harmony."

"Right now, I'm more interested in crime than harmony," Kate responds, pointing to the dwelling in front of them. "Do you think Angela Candela could be in there?"

"It's possible," Castle considers. "The lots for these houses are narrow but long. I considered having a scene with someone running down a hall past doors into a lot of little rooms, in one. I would have had my character flee out the back door through a picture-book garden and into an alley."

"So, what happened?" Kate asks.

"I decided not to use it. The neighbors are so close to each other, one of them might have seen the chase and called the police. It would have ruined three chapters. Anyway, my point is that there are often alleys and little yards behind these houses. We can circle around and see what we see. If Angela is here, there may be some sign of her — toys or something."

"Good point, Castle. We can take a look." She points to the left. "That may be the shortest way in."

After threading their way through the trash awaiting pickup in the ally, Rick and Kate peer over a chain-link fence. "Ooh, see that plastic thing shaped like a turtle? Under the lid, it's a sandbox," Rick explains. "They probably keep it covered to keep out any cats that might be roaming around. I had one like it for Alexis in the loft. She loved playing on the beach at my house in the Hamptons so much that she wanted a piece of it at home."

"Didn't sand get all over the place?" Kate wonders.

"Oh yeah," Castle admits. "That's when I had a central vacuum system installed. You haven't been at the loft long enough to see it in action yet, but that thing can clean up a whole box of spilled Sugar Krinkles in two seconds. A little sandbox in a backyard would be perfect for a two-year-old, though. Angela could be in the house, Beckett. How do you want to play it?"

I'm going to call for a backup unit in case she is here, and someone tries to run with her, but with a few tweaks, I can just knock on the door."

"What tweaks?" Castle asks.

"I need to get a couple of things out of the trunk of my unit and change."

"Change into what?" Rick wonders.

"The sort of person who spends a lot of time knocking on doors. If you can make sure no one gets too close, I'm going to use the back seat to slip into something more appropriate."

Rick solemnly raises his right hand. "I shall zealously repel invaders while you make your transformation."

* * *

Blinking as Kate emerges from her vehicle, Rick takes in her new persona. She's exchanged her signature high heels for flats, and her slacks for a simple black skirt that falls below her knees. Her blazer tops a crisp white blouse, her hair is pulled back in a bun, and she's carrying a Bible. "Sir, can I share the wonder of John 3:16 with you?" she inquires, a bright smile on her face.

"God so loved the world that he…" Castle begins.

"Let me guess, the school where you learned Latin had mandatory chapel attendance," Kate ventures.

"Got it in one," Rick admits, "although, if they were going to save my soul, they were a bit late."

"I don't know about that, Castle. It's never too late for salvation, or at least that's going to be what I tell whoever answers the door."

"Where are you hiding your gun and badge?" Rick queries.

Kate smooths her skirt over her thighs. "Don't ask."

* * *

Esperanza Mendola Ramirez is pissed. She'd just managed to coax Jorge to take a nap when the doorbell rang. He'll never go back to sleep now, and with having to keep a constant eye on him, she'll never be able to get any housework done, let alone have a few minutes to herself to read _Corazón tan Blanco_. Esperanza pulls open the door, glaring at the woman on the other side. "What do you want?"

"I want to share God's love," Kate announces.

"Then God should have known better than to wake up my son," Esperanza returns, as Jorge, newly mounted on a riding fire engine, scoots up behind her. "Look, I go to Our Lady of Grace, when I can manage to get this one," she points at Jorge, "ready on a Sunday morning. I'll get whatever there is of God's love from the priest. So unless you can perform the miracle of getting a toddler to lie quietly for a couple of hours, go preach somewhere else."

"You have a blessed day," Kate replies as Esperanza closes the door.

* * *

"No, two-year-old?" Castle asks as Kate waves off the backup unit and returns to her own.

"Oh, you were right about the sandbox, Castle. There was a kid, just the wrong one, and a mother to whom I owe an apology."

"We could send her flowers," Castle suggests.

"I think she'd rather have a gift certificate to a babysitting service."

"That's possible too. When Alexis was younger, I background-checked and vetted all of them. It shouldn't take long to update my findings."

Kate can't help laughing. "Come on, Castle, I'll take you to the loft to see your daughter."


	21. Chapter 21

Poison Pen

Chapter 21

"Dad, I need to breathe," Alexis protests in the grip of Castle's enthusiastic hug.

"Oh, yeah, right," he acknowledges, loosening his hold. "How was your history exam?"

Alexis' pale face darkens. "I missed a question."

"One question? That would give you what?"

"A 95."

"Somehow, I don't believe that will seriously impact your college admissions."

"But I don't like it, Dad. I should have studied harder. The answer was in the book. I checked."

"Of course you did. Look, if it really bothers you, next time, I can quiz you, or you can tie up with a study group of your other academically obsessive peers."

"I already have — joined a study group, I mean. It's meeting here Friday night."

Castle does a quick mental calculation. He and Kate should know what's going on with Angela Candela by then, but for better or for worse, he'll be available to chaperone. He fervently hopes it's for the better."

After a quick trip to Rick's bathroom, Kate rejoins him. "Ready, Castle? We have time to check out one more Mendola household."

"Go, Dad," Alexis urges. "I'll keep Gram out of the kitchen, I promise."

Castle brushes her ginger locks with his lips and taking out his wallet. "Here," he offers, pulling out two twenties, "order Thai. Gram loves the spice, and you can save me some."

"Will do, Dad," Alexis agrees as Kate motions Castle toward the door.

"Spanish Harlem?" Castle asks as he and Kate step into the elevator.

"Uh-huh," Kate confirms. "The southern end where it's more gentrified. I think the address is in one of the rehabbed buildings."

"Those structures are huge," Castle notes. "We won't be able to scout the neighborhood."

"No, I think we'll have to use a more direct approach, but I'm sure any Mendola would claim they're interested in helping out poor Theresa. As far as anyone knows, Castle, we're still looking at a real kidnapping. And if we're wrong about the Candelas, that's exactly what it is."

Castle shudders. "You just made me want to go back and give my daughter another hug."

* * *

"I heard that Angela was taken," Alejandro Mendola volunteers at the sight of Kate's badge. "I'd like to help, but I don't know what I can do. Theresa and Nina are the stars in the family, the ones who earn real money. I'm just managing the rent on this apartment."

"Right now, we're gathering all the information we can," Kate explains. "Sometimes, family members see or hear something that they don't know is significant. Anything you can tell us may help. May we come in?"

"Sure," Alejandro agrees, "but I haven't been here long and haven't got much furniture yet."

"Not a problem," Kate assures him.

"I've been in my loft for 15 years, and I'm still working on it," Castle adds.

Alejandro opens two folding metal chairs to accompany one already at a small table. "Please, sit. What would you like to know?"

"When was the last time you saw Theresa, Mr. Mendola?" Kate asks.

"We had a family picnic thing in Central Park. There were Mendolas from all over. Theresa was there with Alfred and Angela. Nina, Theresa's sister, was there too, and she and Theresa were putting their heads together about something while Alfred took Angela off to find a playground with a baby swing. There was another cousin who went with them, Estelle. She babysits for Angela when Alfred goes to pitch galleries or whatever else an artist does. From what I could see, Angela's at the stage where she doesn't like many people, but she seems to love Estelle."

"In case we need further information about Angela, what's Estelle's full name?" Kate questions.

"Estelle Rivera. She lives in Kew Gardens, but she picks up a lot of temp work in Manhattan, so she doesn't mind coming in to help out Theresa and Alfred. They are such a lovely couple, and they worked very hard to adopt Angela. Alfred had a job as a graphic artist for an ad agency and was moving up when he agreed to stay home full time with the baby. According to what Theresa said, the adoption agency required one parent to do that for at least the first year. Theresa upped her workload to help him do it and pay the mortgage on their condo. I could never keep the schedule she does, I can tell you. It would totally exhaust me, but that was the plan she and Alfred worked out. They really wanted to be parents. Having Angela taken like that must be killing them."

"They are having a tough time," Kate agrees. "But the N.Y.P.D. is doing all we can to get Angela back, and so is the FBI."

"Glad to hear it. I'll be praying for her safe return. If there's anything else I can do, please let me know."

"I will, Mr. Mendola," Kate promises.

"Whew," Castle whistles, shaking his head as he pushes the elevator call button. "Theresa and Alfred must have been working on staging the kidnapping for a long time. Angela would be so used to Estelle she'd go with her without question. Angela will be returned on cue, and as soon as the furor dies down, the 'poor bankrupted Candelas,' can leave New York behind, take Angela and start their new life."

"Most people wouldn't even question their wanting to get away from the terrible memories of a kidnapping," Kate realizes.

"I've got to give it to them," Castle muses. "Theresa and Alfred put on a good show. For the first few minutes, I was convinced they hated each other. If their story had made more sense, I might still be on the hook. But if I'd written the scenario for them, I would have claimed Angela was grabbed in the park or a mall. No telltale security lapses like the window and just as many or more furious accusations."

"Then I suppose we should be glad that Alfred's an artist, not a writer," Kate considers. "I think we're going to have to lay the whole thing out for Will now, though. We'll have to cover Estelle's place in Kew Gardens, and anywhere else she might have taken Angela. That's going to take manpower, something the FBI has."

Castle squeezes Kate's hand. "And woman power."

"You better believe it, Castle."

* * *

Rick can see Sorenson's jaw muscles pop as Kate recounts what she and Castle learned from Alejandro Mendola and their theory of the crime. "That sounds like something Castle dreamed up for one of his books. You really believe it, Kate?"

"Yes, I do, Will," she confirms. "Every piece fits, a lot better than some random kidnapper who decides to break into the Candelas' apartment while Alfred is there, and snatch Angela."

"And I checked with the designer who did my beach house," Castle interjects. "She buys a lot of local art for her clients, and she recognized Alfred's name from a showing at a gallery she knows. His work isn't about to be auctioned off at Sotheby's, but he's not the failure Theresa implied. His work is salable. My designer was considering a piece for an uptown condo."

"Theresa and Alfred have been lying from the start, Will," Kate insists. "We need to uncover the truth without tipping them off, and we're going to need your resources to do it."

Sorenson nods, gritting his teeth. "I'll start the wheels rolling."


	22. Chapter 22

Poison Pen

Chapter 22

From a spot on a small hill in Forest Park, Castle stares through binoculars at a little girl in a toddler-sized swing. "I've got Angela."

"Are you sure it's her?" Sorenson demands.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Castle retorts. "Aside from recognizing her face, she's holding a stuffed blue bunny. That bunny was in half the pictures of her in the Candelas' apartment. If Estelle sits for her regularly, she would know better than to try to take it away from her."

"If you're going to tell us a story about your daughter and some toy, save it," Sorenson orders, spotting the child through a scope. "But you're right, that's Angela."

"And that's Estelle pushing her," Kate adds. "Her face is a match to her DMV photo, as much as anyone's face matches their DMV photo."

"So, now what?" Castle questions. "You have a small army, but you can't go in there with guns drawn, not around a baby."

Kate shoves her badge in her pocket and makes sure her gun is out of sight. "Come on, Castle, it's been a long time since I've been on a seesaw. And there are some swings next to the little ones, that will hold adults. Let's play a bit."

"Kate Beckett suggesting we play. I must have been out in the sun too long," Castle declares.

Kate holds out her hand for him to grab. "I'm in the mood for a frolic. Smile and laugh, Castle," Kate whispers with a wide grin as she leads the way to the playground. "Can you skip?"

"I can do you one better," Castle claims, catching on to Kate's act. Scooping the detective up in his arms, he runs to the playground with her. "You'll have to scoot way back, and I'll have to sit forward if we're going to balance," he remarks loudly, setting Kate on one end of a seesaw.

"We'll balance OK, Baby," she purrs, sliding back as far as she can while he climbs on the other end in front of the hand-hold." Kate forces all her weight downward, giggling. "See, we're perfect, but I want to fly. Let's try the swings."

"All right, Sweetie," Castle agrees, pushing upward with his legs to allow Kate to dismount.

Continuing to giggle, Kate runs toward the swings, with Castle at her heels.

Kate drops into a swing before glancing toward Angela and popping out again. "Ooh, she's so cute!" she gushes to Estelle as Angela's lip trembles at the intrusion of an unknown person into her space.

"She doesn't like strangers," Estelle protests as Kate edges sideways, reaching behind her for her gun.

Moving out of Angela's field of vision, Kate points her weapon at Estelle. "You're not going to like me much either. Estelle Rivera, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud. Castle take Angela." Sorenson's team pounds on to the scene as Kate cuffs Estelle.

Castle bounces Angela in his arms and starts to sing as she clings to her bunny and wails. "Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity Hoppity Easter's on its way; bringing every girl and boy, baskets full of Easter joy; things to make your Easter bright and gay."

Quieting, Angela snuggles into Rick's chest. "You've got the magic touch, Castle," Kate marvels.

"Lots of practice, and not just with Alexis but all the kids in her mommy and me classes which I turned into mommy and daddy and me classes. And given her affinity for rabbits, I took a guess. But I feel like I should buy her an Easter basket or something," Rick worries. "Without Theresa, Alfred, or Estelle, she's not going to be a happy camper."

"Well, maybe Children's Protective Services can find a family member like Alejandro who isn't involved in the plot, that she can be comfortable with," Kate hopes. "We have a social worker on standby, but for the moment, Angela seems to be happy with you."

"She knows a Daddy when she sees one." Castle decides.

* * *

"Kate," Sorenson calls, as Estelle is loaded into a black SUV.

Kate lays her hand on Rick's arm as he continues to bounce Angela while the social worker is on her way. "I'll be right back."

"You and Castle were having fun in the playground," Will declares.

"Castle was helping me get close to Estelle so that I could arrest her without endangering Angela." Kate points out.

"So, the hand holding and flirtatious laughter was an act?"

Kate shrugs. "I didn't say that."

"Are you saying that you and Castle are together?"

"We work together. We enjoy each other's company. We haven't had the chance to find out about anything else yet."

"But you're planning on finding out," Will assumes.

"We are," Kate confirms. "Will, I don't know what you were expecting when you asked for me to be on this case. If it was that I'd help you get Angela back, then you got what you wanted, but you can forget about anything else."

"I think you're making a mistake, Kate," Will argues. "Castle's going to get in your way. He might even get you killed. And who could understand you better than another cop?"

"Castle can," Kate declares. "He already does. And as for getting in my way, if it weren't for Castle, Angela would still be missing, and you'd believe that the Candelas were innocent victims." Kate turns away before looking back over her shoulder. "We're done, Will. We've been done since before you went to Boston."

"You OK?" Castle asks as Kate returns to him.

"Yeah, more OK than I've been in a long time."

* * *

Badcock can think of things that he would rather read than The Ledger, shelves full of them, but the newspaper is what's available at that moment. He turns to his favorite part, the arts section. "F**k! Castle is still working with Detective Beckett at the N.Y.P.D. Not only is he working with her, he has hinted that he's using his time with the police as research and writing about her. The hack shouldn't be writing about anything. He should be dead.

Well, Badcock has his own story, and it's far from over. He'll have a trial. He'll have a chance to make his case. New York, the country, the world, will hear what he has to say. Abusers of the written word like Castle and all his co-conspirators in the Poe Society will no longer find their works accepted by their readers. They will be in literary prisons of their own making.

* * *

As he's writing in his office, Castle is half-listening to the conversation in the great room. He doesn't expect anything worse from Alexis' study group than significantly depleting the stores in his larder, but with teenagers, you never know. Still, he's not seriously worried about some burgeoning Romeo trying to ravish Alexis. She's firmly infatuated with Owen, who, as a junior, isn't part of the gathering. Rick's more concerned with his own possible romantic adventures. Tomorrow night he and Kate have a date, a real date, not work-related in the least.

He managed to wrangle a reservation at Your Own Corner. Each table in the restaurant is in its own little curtained alcove, allowing every couple privacy, even in an establishment filled with other diners. The food is cooked to order, and the wine list excellent. Kate will love the dessert tray, too. After dinner, he doesn't know. That will be up to Kate, but he's hoping that she'll be ready to move their relationship forward. He's already written a love scene between Nikki and Rook that practically set his screen on fire. He hopes that he can be half as lucky as his avatar.


	23. Chapter 23

Poison Pen

Chapter 23

"Kate, calm down!" Lanie commands, pulling dresses from Kate's closet. "We'll find the right outfit. But I don't think that's what you're nervous about."

"You're right," Kate admits. "Lanie, I got a crush on Castle just reading his books and looking at his picture on the dustjackets. And after getting to know him — I just don't want to blow it, that's all."

"How could you blow it? You've been working hand in glove with that man, not to mention spending a night in a car with him. If you were going to turn him off, you would have done it by now. With his money and success, he could be going out with a supermodel, but he asked you. And what about the book he's basing on you? You hooked him, girlfriend."

"I wasn't fishing, Lanie," Kate protests. "I want a partner, not a catch."

Lanie's head waggles back and forth on her neck. "Wow, look who's hooked!" She fingers a silky crimson sheath. "What about this one? It's still got tags on it."

"I forgot I had that. My cousin Sophie bought it in the back room at Loehmann's and put it away for a special occasion. But she gained a little weight and couldn't get into it, so she gave it to me. I haven't tried it on in years."

"You should," Lanie advises. "A classic design like that is timeless, and you haven't gained a pound since I've known you." She extends the hanger bearing the sleek dress. "Here."

Lanie looks on in satisfaction as Kate stands in front of the mirror. "See, it's perfect. You're going to knock Castle's eyes out."

* * *

Rick sweeps his hand toward his tie rack. "I can't figure out which one to wear with this shirt, or if I should wear this shirt."

"Maroon looks good on you, Dad," Alexis assures him, reaching for a silver tie and holding it up against Castle's chest. "See, that's perfect."

"You're right," Castle agrees, slipping the tie around his neck. "Have you considered becoming a professional stylist? It seems like anyone who ever goes near a red carpet in this town uses one."

"That's one of the few things I haven't considered doing," Alexis confesses. "Right now, it's between law, medicine, environmental science, and quantum physics."

"At least you're narrowing it down. Are you going to be all right while I'm out with Beckett tonight? It's Saturday; I thought you'd be going somewhere with your friends."

Alexis rolls her eyes. "They're going to a movie, but I've already seen it. Mom has three lines in it, so she took me to the premier."

"Yes, as I remember, your Gram saw a cut of that at a film festival. She wasn't complimentary."

"She said the actors brought shame on the craft," Alexis recalls. "I didn't think it was that bad, but I don't want to sit through it again. Anyway, Owen is on a weekend trip with his parents, and we're going to Skype."

"Ah, the truth emerges. You have fun."

"You have fun too, Dad. I don't think you could do anything weirder in front of Detective Beckett than you've already done."

Rick leans down to kiss his daughter's forehead. "Thank you. That's a great comfort."

* * *

Rick gulps as Kate opens the door to her apartment. Her dress lovingly hugs the curves of her body, and a long slit exposes a tantalizing glimpse of leg. She's wearing just enough makeup to emphasize her features without overwhelming them, and the tendrils of hair framing her face beg for his touch. "You look incredible!"

"You don't look bad yourself, Castle."

"Um, are you ready to go?"

"I just need to get my coat. Come in."

Castle glances around, noting a purple theme to the décor, while Kate reaches into a hall closet. He takes the lightweight garment from her and holds it up so she can easily slip her arms into the sleeves.

"Thanks, Castle."

His hands linger for a moment on her shoulders. "My pleasure. Shall we go?"

* * *

Rick pulls open the passenger door of a red Ferrari so Kate can seat herself inside. "I didn't know you have a Ferrari, Castle."

"I don't drive it much. It's not exactly a family car. I bought it after Alexis' mother went off and had an affair with a director in Malibu. I thought it would make me feel…"

Kate nods. "I get the picture."

"Anyway," Castle continues, "I wanted tonight to be special, and I think the valets signal the maître D's to give you a better table if you drive up in a flashy car, especially if you impress them as a good tipper. According to the reviews, all the tables at this restaurant are good, but some are better than others."

"I guess we'll find out," Kate responds as Castle rounds the front of the car to slide into the driver's seat. "I got a call from Alejandro Mendola a little while ago."

"Don't tell me he's hitting on you."

Kate hides her smile behind the tips of her fingers. "No. He wanted to tell me that Angela Candela is with her grandmother Mendola and another one of the cousins who's staying with her. He said the little girl is happy and doing fine."

"That is good news. I was worried about what might happen to her."

"I know you were, Castle. That's one of the things I like about you and why I thought you'd want to know."

"I did. You know," Rick confides, "I was afraid you'd get some last-minute case tonight."

"Esposito volunteered to be on call."

"I thought he'd be at Boobs and Brew, watching that stripper he's been dating, Trixie."

"They broke up. He didn't tell me why, but I overheard Ryan saying something about Espo's eyes being on too many boobs."

"He does have a strong appreciation for that particular aspect of the female form. When he looks at Lanie, he isn't always focused on her face, and he does seem to like visiting the morgue."

"If he wants to get anywhere with Lanie, he's going to have to broaden his horizons, but that's for him to work out. I'm trying to work out where we're going. How far is this restaurant, Castle?"

"Not far. In fact, we're almost there. Castle pulls up in a small lot and hands the valet his keys and a $50 bill. Slipping his claim check in his pocket, he offers his arm to Kate, escorting her to the door of Your Own Corner.

Kate notices that Castle also hands the maître D a sizable tip before they're led to a table. Nodding at Rick, the maître D points at the pull cords that will close the curtains around them. Your server will be with you shortly, and once you've received your dining pleasures for the evening, you will have complete privacy."

In the glow of the candle flickering in the middle of the table, Rick can see the flush in Kate's face. "What's going on here, Castle?"

"Kate, right now, nothing is going on except that I'm waiting for our server to show up so we can order dinner. I just wanted somewhere I could be with you for a little while without the world intruding, but if you're uncomfortable with that, I'll leave the curtains open."

Kate fingers the tassel at the end of a cord. "No, Castle. After our server brings our order, I'll close them."


	24. Chapter 24

Poison Pen

Chapter 24

Wearing loose black pants and a high collared tunic, Jian-Wa, the server approaching Rick and Kate's table, evokes a mix of Arabian Nights and a martial arts movie. "Our chef has created several specials for this evening, as well as gluten-free and vegan variations if you desire them."

Rick and Kate exchange glances of mutual agreement. "Just tell us about the regular specials," Castle requests.

"First we have the fresh catch of the day, bought directly from fishermen in Long Island Sound. Today we feature black bass, grilled to perfection.

"Our meat-eater's entrée is a rib-eye with chef's special rub, cooked to the precise level of doneness you prefer.

"We also have a chicken piccata with your choice of white wine or lemon juice in the chef's signature sauce.

"As accompaniments, you can choose from a mixed salad of organically grown greens or a wilted spinach salad with hot bacon dressing. Your choice of root vegetables is rainbow carrots, beets, or parsnips. You can also request baby purple potatoes, spiced potato wedges, herbed brown rice, or quinoa." Jian-Wa pulls two leather-bound lists from deep pockets in his tunic and hands them to Rick and Kate. "As you can see, our wine list is extensive. The insert lists suggested pairings for this evening's offerings. Will you need a moment to make your selections?"

Rick looks at Kate, who shakes her head. He quickly scans the parchment paper in a pocket of the front cover of the wine list. "I believe we're ready now. The suggested pairings appear excellent. We'll go with those. Kate?"

"The chicken with white wine sauce, the mixed salad, and the purple potatoes."

"And the gentleman?" Jian-Wa prompts.

Rick chuckles inwardly at the match of Kate's side order with the furnishings of her apartment. "Ribeye, spinach salad, and potato wedges."

"Very good, Sir. Would you like some warm, freshly baked bread and olive oil as a starter?"

Castle raises an eyebrow at Kate, who nods.

"Please," Castle replies. "And can you send a message to the valet to park the red Ferrari," he consults his claim check, "number 47, in a secure corner? If we're going to avail ourselves of your outstanding vintages, I won't be driving it anymore tonight."

"Yes, Sir," Jian-Wa agrees, "and we'll have a cab standing by when you have finished dining." He points to a bell hanging from the edge of the table. "You can ring anytime you wish anything else, anything at all."

"As a cop and a passenger, I appreciate what you just told Jian-Wa, Castle," Kate confides as the server hurries away to get their bread. "But, I was looking forward to another ride in your flaming chariot — or driving it myself."

"I'll be coming back to get it tomorrow, Kate, and you can drive it anytime you like. And as a cop, you know how to put the pedal to the metal, but do you like fast cars?"

"For a pure rush, I prefer motorcycles, but I do love speed."

"Not in everything, I hope," Castle responds.

"No," Kate concedes. "Some things are much more enjoyable when you take your time to explore all the possibilities."

Rick reaches across the table for her hand. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

Kate licks the last of her raspberry mousse from the tip of her spoon and takes a final sip from a glass of wine, candlelight dancing in the crystal. "That was fantastic!"

"Would you like another one?" Castle asks. "We can use our little bell to call Jian-Wa."

"No, unless you want something."

"Not from Jian-Wa. Kate, so far tonight we've talked about food, books, theater, motor vehicles and the romantic leanings of your comrades in the bullpen, but the one thing we haven't talked about is us, and where we go from here. So, what do you see as our next step?"

Kate leans across the table to press her lips to his, wine and spice mingling on their tongues. "Let's take that cab the valet is supposed to have for us, back to my place."

* * *

Castle shifts his weight from foot to foot as Kate unlocks her door. She lets her coat slip to the floor on the other side and presses against him, thrusting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Rick!"

"Tell me what you want, Kate."

"Everything. I want everything." Her mouth finds his as he pulls her against him, desperate for more intimate contact. Their gourmet meal forgotten, Rick wants nothing more than the bountiful feast in he's holding, to touch, to taste, every inch of the wondrous creation that is Kate Beckett.

Rick lifts Kate in his arms. "Which way?"

Kate says a silent prayer thanking God that she took all the outfits she tried on for Lanie off her bed and jammed them back in her closet. "Through the door next to the couch."

Rick lays Kate on a vintage quilt, done in squares of lavender and deep blue. She pushes her sheath off her shoulder to reveal creamy flesh that calls to Rick like a siren song. His mouth is everywhere as they strip the clothes from each other's bodies. Bare skin to bare skin, they grapple, their desire for each other intensifying second to second.

Rick can feel Kate hot and longing as she arches beneath the pressure of his palm, beyond any conscious control. A jolt of lightning burns through his veins as her hand encircles him, wordlessly bidding him fill her need. "Kate, are you safe? Do we have to…?"

The answer grinds from deep in her throat. "It's fine, Castle. It won't… We won't… I just need you — now."

Even as he fills her, Kate's desperation increases. Legs rising of their own accord, her heels press hard against the muscle of his back. Short fingernails dig into firm biceps, leaving tiny crescents. "More. I need more."

Castle flips Kate above him, granting free rein to the driving of her hips. His fingertips find the epicenter of her urgency, pushing her to the edge of madness. Their mouths collide, tongues darting and twisting around each other. His hands cradle her breasts, sensation surging as the sweat of their bodies vaporizes in the mantle of heat that surrounds them. Lava rises in the human volcano they have become until the eruption releases the pent up force that has been battling its way to the surface. Empty and filled, they rest, arms and legs still entwined.

* * *

Castle can feel rather than see the dawn creeping into Kate's bedroom. Alexis won't be up yet. She sleeps in on Sundays, and Mother is reasonable enough not to wake her up with early morning vocalizations. He has time to get home, but there is no way he'll just leave Kate. He curls around her, the most charmingly rounded part of her fitting perfectly into the hollow of his body. He would happily remain like this all day, maybe all year. He sighs. Staying is a pipe dream.

Rick has to get home before too much of the morning passes. Not only does he want to be there for Alexis, he has writing to do. But he has to make sure that Kate knows how much what happened between them the night before means to him. Even as the writer that he is, he can't put that in a note. Whether his family witnesses his morning return to the loft or not, he won't be doing a walk of shame. He's not ashamed. Not the least bit. Just profoundly moved.


	25. Chapter 25

Poison Pen

Chapter 25

Unsure if she's still dreaming, Kate snuggles into the warmth of Castle's body. The whisper in her ear is real enough. "Good morning."

She turns in his arms, her face inches from his. "Rick, last night. It's never been like that for me before. I always thought the descriptions of love scenes in novels were made up."

"I know what you mean," Rick admits. "I wrote one for Nikki and Rook. Now, if they really are a reflection of us, I'm going to have to rewrite it."

Kate nestles into his chest. "I don't want to get out of this bed."

Her hair brushes his face as her head fills the nook beneath his chin. "Neither do I," Rick admits, "but I do have to get home — eventually. However, I think we have some time. What would you like to do?"

Kate's fingers wander along the bare skin of his thigh. "I'm sure we can figure out something."

* * *

The loft is quiet when Castle closes the door gently behind him. He wants to get to his computer before household activity picks up. He thinks about making some coffee. The filter on Kate's machine was broken, and he didn't want to kiss her goodbye with coffee breath anyway. He decides to forget the brew for now. His inspiration won't be springing from caffeine.

Flipping open his laptop, he brings up the text that will eventually be about 100 pages into "Heat Wave," and lets the words flow from the tips of his fingers. As he finishes typing, he hears Martha and Alexis in the kitchen. Just in time. He might as well start a morning scramble before Martha gets anywhere near the stove.

As Rick emerges from his office, Martha studies his face. He's smiling. Well, she would have expected that. She turned in at 1 a.m., and he had yet to come through the door. But he isn't wearing the after-good-sex smile she's mentally recorded in her actor's store of facial expressions. He's radiating pure joy. After two marriages and an array of girlfriends, it might be that he's finally found the right woman. For her son's sake, Martha hopes so.

* * *

"I am creating a masterpiece," Rick declares, using a wooden spoon to stir the contents of a small skillet over a flame on the stove. Eggs, two kinds of cheese and fresh herbs, cooked to perfection. Who are my takers?"

"Nothing puts pounds on the hips like cheese," Martha asserts. "I'll stick with a wheatgrass smoothie."

Castle responds with a gagging sound. "Alexis?"

"Sure, Dad, but I want to eat fast. Owen is coming back today, and I'm going to meet him at B&B. They're having a special viewing of a shipment of books from the Burkhart estate."

"I met Burkhart a couple of times before his health declined," Castle recalls. "He was quite a quirky collector. I'm tempted to go with you."

Alexis throws him a warning glance. "Dad."

"Don't worry," Rick urges. "I'm not about to intrude on your time with Owen. I can make my own appointment to see the precious tomes another day. Maybe Kate would like to go with me. B&B isn't that far from Comicadia. We could make it a tour of literary genres."

"You and Detective Beckett must have had a good time last night," Alexis surmises.

Stilling his spoon in mid-stir, Rick closes his eyes in remembrance. "A very good time."

* * *

Kate slowly brushes out her hair. She'd let the moisture evaporate on its own instead of using a blow dryer after a long, misty-vision-filled shower. Castle called, suggesting that they meet up late that afternoon when the parking lot for Your Own Corner opens, so she can take a turn at driving his Ferrari. She checks her father's watch, which is still sitting on her dresser. She has plenty she can do to fill the intervening hours, starting with putting her closet back in order, but she doesn't feel like ruining her mood with something that practical. Better to curl up with Derrick Storm and prolong her languorous haze.

* * *

After ending up in the same subway car, Rick and Kate make the short walk to the restaurant lot together. Rick had expected to see his sporty toy ready to go with a valet eagerly awaiting a monetary pat on the back, but the place appears unattended. After receiving no response to a press of the call buzzer at the claim booth, Kate suggests they look for the vehicle themselves. They're approaching the Ferrari when their path is blocked by a figure lying on the asphalt. "That's the valet who was on duty when we were here last night," Castle observes as Kate feels for a pulse.

"He may have been lying here since last night," Kate speculates. "His body is cold."

* * *

"He was stabbed, Kate," Lanie reports, kneeling next to the body.

"There isn't much blood," Kate notes, "was he killed somewhere else and moved?"

Castle puts a hand under Lanie's elbow as she pushes up from the pavement. "Thanks, writer-boy. And Kate, to answer your question, he wasn't moved. The pattern of levidity is consistent with being killed here. I won't be able to tell for sure until I get him back to the lab, but it looks like the weapon had a barb or something on it. The killer probably shoved it in and then twisted, tearing up the liver so that," she checks the name embroidered on the valet's uniform, Dominic here, bled out internally."

"Sounds like an agonizing death," Castle observes.

"It would have been," Lanie agrees. "Someone didn't like him much."

"Which gives us a place to start," Kate declares. "We'll interview his co-workers and friends to see if there was anyone Dominic had a conflict with. But first, we'll need to check his employment record for his emergency contact."

"And then comes the tough duty," Castle realizes. "You want some company while you notify the next of kin?"

"Yeah, I do, thanks, but your Ferrari is part of the crime scene. We can't move it. We'll need to go pick up my unit."

* * *

"I hate breaking the news to victims' mothers." Kate confides, finding a spot for her assigned vehicle at the curb in front of a Washington Heights apartment building.

Rick reaches for her hand. "I can understand that. You're there when a parent experiences the first deluge of the pain of losing a child. I may turn old and gray while Alexis grows up and has a family of her own, but she'll still be my child. I can barely imagine what it would be like to lose her."

Kate reaches for the handle of her door. "Being there is essential to the job. Maybe Mrs. Farrell will have some idea who would kill her son."

"I don't know how you even find the words to ask," Castle confesses.

"I have to. I know that I wished Raglan paid more attention when I tried to tell him that my mother had enemies. If Mrs. Farrell has anything to say that might be the smallest clue, I'm going to listen. But Castle, if you want to stay out here, I understand."

"I'm your partner Kate, now more than ever. Whatever you need to do, I'll be by your side."


	26. Chapter 26

Poison Pen

Chapter 26

"Everything finally came down on Dominic," Claire Farrell realizes.

"Were you expecting something to happen to your son, Ms. Farrell?" Kate asks.

"I've been expecting something to happen to that boy practically from the moment he was born," Claire responds, her voice trembling. "He was always in trouble. If the neighborhood kids hatched a scam, he was the first one in line to carry it out. He got kicked out of regular high school and barely finished up in an 'alternative program.' He's been kicking around from job to job, always looking for the big score. When he bought a new car and moved to an East Village apartment, I knew he was into something illegal. Valets at fancy restaurants can make good tips, but not enough to afford what he was buying."

"Do you have any idea who Dominic might have been working with to get that kind of money, Ms. Farrell?" Kate queries.

"He didn't say much to me except about the rich —pardon me Detective Beckett, assholes — whose cars he handled." Castle smothers a cough as Claire continues. "Dom believed they were too lazy to spend five minutes looking for a parking place, but that they'd end up paying for a lot more than valet service. But I have no idea what he meant."

"What you've told me may still be helpful." Kate fishes in the pocket of her light jacket for a card and extends it to Claire. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Farrell. If you think of anything else, give me a call. Day or night."

"Sounds like Dominic Farrell suffered the unfortunate result of a falling out among thieves," Castle concludes as he and Kate return to her unit. "What do you think a valet was doing to make the kind of money that his mother described?"

"I don't know, Castle, but finding out may lead us to his killer. We need to go back to Your Own Table. Most of the employees should be on shift by now."

Ask the manager for a private space where we can question them," Castle suggests. "Believe me, every minute in a place like Your Own Corner costs a fortune in overhead. They can't afford downtime. The manager will be happy to go along with anything that minimizes interruptions in their business. And if all else fails, I'll promise to feature some version of the restaurant in my next book."

Kate's teeth find her lower lip. "Castle, as much as possible, I'd rather keep our date last night to ourselves."

Deepening furrows flank the bridge of Castle's nose. "You don't want people to know we're together, Kate?"

"I don't think it's any secret, Castle, not with your Ferrari at the murder scene. But I want to keep what I can of last night, special."

"It was definitely that," Castle agrees. "It's all right, Kate. I didn't write the love scene between Nikki and Rook as beginning at a restaurant. Their heat rises in a very different way. But I don't think Nikki could ever be as hot as the muse that helped me create her. You are one of a kind."

"No more than you, Castle. Let's go talk to the manager and see if your writer's brain can come up with a scenario from what the employees at Your Own Corner tell us."

* * *

Bruce Sonnenfeld squirms nervously in his seat. "I barely knew Dominic. All I did was text him when the diners at my stations were ready to leave. All the servers do that. It's part of this place's mystique to have our patrons' cars sitting out front with the engine running and the doors open as they leave the front of the house. Or we'll have a cab ready. Either way, Dominic or another valet would take care of it. They'd text to the doorman at the hotel a block down to send over one of the cabs that line up there."

"So the valets always know who's coming and going and so do the servers," Castle clarifies.

"And the maître D," Bruce adds. "He keeps track of all the customers, so he knows when a table will be clear."

"Any reason why any of the staff here would want Dominic dead?" Kate asks.

"No, of course not," Bruce swears. "We're all busy doing our own jobs. We don't have time to get to know the valets. There's no reason any of us would have anything against Dominic. Can I get back to my station now? Most of my income comes from tips, and if I don't serve, I don't get any."

"You can go," Kate allows, "but will you be here if we need to talk to you again?"

"Or at home, sleeping. The restaurant has my address and cell number. I can't afford a landline."

"What do you think, Castle?" Kate asks after Bruce leaves their improvised interrogation room.

"He said pretty much the same thing as Jian-Wa and all the other servers," Castle recounts, "but none of them was as jumpy as he was. And he was careful to make himself sound strapped. Landlines aren't that expensive. He was also covering himself by throwing suspicion on the rest of the staff. I think he's into something. Consider this, Kate. While Your Own Corner's customers retreat behind the curtains, the servers and the valets know where they are and approximately how long they'll be there. Add to that; the valets get a heads up about when patrons are leaving. I remember some old TV plots in which valets made copies of house keys, and people were ripped off while they were eating. But now, with fobs, most people don't keep their house keys on the same ring as their car keys anymore. There's more information that a valet could get in a car, though. Usually, the registration, with an address, is in the glove box. A lot of people keep receipts in the car too. There might be credit card numbers or records of purchases of merchandise worth stealing. And for regular customers, a valet could figure out a schedule of when they'd be away from home."

"Castle, do you think the valets are ripping people off? How could they stay on duty and burgle customers' homes at the same time?"

"They couldn't, Kate, but they could sell their data to an operation that could perform surgical strikes, so to speak."

"If Dominic was feeding them information, why would they kill him?" Kate questions.

"Maybe he got greedy and tried to jack up the price," Castle speculates. "Or he found something that made him want to go out on his own. His murder could easily have been a warning to toe the line, to anyone else in on the operation."

"Like Bruce Sonnenfeld."

"Exactly like Bruce Sonnenfeld. I don't think he's as worried about his tips as he is about being terminated — with extreme prejudice."

"Almost everyone in a restaurant like Your Own Corner pays with a credit card. There will be records of charges and tips. Dominic's wages will be listed on the payroll. If you're right, Castle, his financials should show income not accounted for by his job. Sonnenfeld's may too. I'll put in a request for the readouts. We should have it in the morning."

"And what about tonight?" Castle wonders.

Kate shoves the toe of her high heeled boot beneath the hem of his slacks and slides it up his leg. "You said Alexis' study group is meeting at a friend's house tonight, right? How late will she be out?"

Castle grins. "Late enough for some evening delight."


	27. Chapter 27

Poison Pen

Chapter 27

Kate is barely out of an early-morning shower when the ring tone on her cell announces a call from Castle. "Kate, I just heard from Clark Murray. He's finished his analysis of your mother's autopsy report and wants to talk with you. He can meet us at the precinct a half-hour before your shift starts."

"Did he say anything about what he found?" Kate asks, drawing her towel more tightly around her.

"No. He said he wants to present his findings to you in person. See you there?'

"I'll be there, Castle, and thanks."

"Maybe you'd better wait to hear what Murray has to say before you get too grateful," Castle advises.

* * *

Murray carefully lays out documents, photographs, and two oddly shaped pieces of plastic on the table in the conference room. "Detective Beckett, I've examined your mother's case and compared it to reports of similar murders from that immediate time period." He pushes a sheet of paper across the table. "These are the names of the deceased. They're in the photos in front of you."

Kate reaches for Castle's hand as she scans the names. "I recognize these. They're all people who had an association with my mother. Diane Cavanaugh was her colleague and friend. I met her when she and my mother were working together at our home a couple of times."

"They were all stabbed, and the police concluded they were all victims of random violence," Murray continues.

"Who were the detectives in charge?" Kate queries.

Murray consults his notes. "There were two, a Detective Raglan and a Detective McCallister."

Kate nods. "That figures. McCallister was Raglan's partner."

Castle points at the two strange objects. "What are those?"

"They are partial reproductions of the two weapons used. I printed them, but even using a computer algorithm to reconstruct the shapes, I could only get so far from the autopsy pictures. Other than the fact that they were different blades, I can't identify them. If I could, they might lead us to the killer or killers." Murray leans across the table, his voice dropping. "Detective Beckett, would it be possible to exhume your mother's body and perhaps those of at least one other of these victims, possibly Diane Cavanaugh? They were killed with different blades. Working with the actual wounds is the only way I can do accurate reconstructions, as well as look for anything else the original M.E. might have missed."

Rick wraps his arm around Kate's shoulders as she draws a shaky breath. "I'll -I'll have to talk to my father. It's his decision. And I'll contact Diane Cavanaugh's family too."

Ryan knocks gently on the door to the conference room. "Beckett, the financials came in on Dominic Farrell and Bruce Sonnenfeld."

Swiping her sleeve across her eyes, Kate twists in her chair to face the more junior detective. "Thanks, Ryan. I'll be right there.

"Kate, are you going to be all right to work on Dominic's murder?" Castle asks after Ryan returns to the bullpen.

"Castle, I have to be. That's my job. It's who I am. But stick close, OK?"

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

* * *

Castle studies the figures on his print-out. "Dominic wasn't one for planning ahead. It looks like he spent his money as fast as it came in, maybe a little faster. His credit card balances were rising."

"That goes along with your theory that he was looking for a bigger score, Castle." Kate taps the sheet in front of her with her fingernail. "Sonnenfeld is more careful. He has extra funds flowing in, but he's stowing them away. He's made transfers from his New York Bank to one in the Cayman Islands. It looks like he's also making steady purchases from a coin dealer."

"He could be doing that for the appreciation of the coins themselves or the value of the gold, like in the '70s when everyone bought Krugerrands. I'd have my characters go for platinum. As an industrial metal, it rises in value pretty much no matter what is going on in the world," Castle explains, "but it is traditional for villains to love their gold." He strokes an imaginary ring on his finger. "Don't we, Precious?"

The ghost of an upturn teases Kate's lips. "Sonnenfeld's no Gollum, but he may not be the brightest bulb either. We can take turns with Ryan and Esposito sitting on him in case he goes to whoever is running the theft operation. Your Own Corner may not be the only restaurant they're using to finger their victims."

"Are you going to call your dad?" Castle asks.

"No, I should talk to him in person. I'll have the boys take over with Sonnenfeld after four hours. I can go see him then."

"You want me to go with you?"

"Not this time, Castle. He's going to have a hard enough time hearing it from me."

"I understand, Kate, but I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

Jim Beckett drops heavily into his desk chair. "You want some M.E. to dig up your mother. That's ghoulish, Katie. After all this time, what could he hope to find?"

"That's just it, Dad. You know how far computers have come since Mom was taken from us. The M.E., Dr. Murray, is the best. Even Lanie thinks so. He can do things with technology that weren't possible a decade ago. And her death isn't the only one involved. There were others, including Diane Cavanaugh. If Murray produces new leads, I may find justice for all of them. I want this. _Vincit omnia veritas._ Mom would want it too. You know she would."

Jim rubs his fingers over his mouth, much like his daughter. "She would, Katie. All right. I'll sign the exhumation papers. I hope it's worth it."

* * *

"Mr. Kirby, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my counsel?" Simon Badcock inquires, looking up from the table in the prison visitation room.

"I got your examinations moved up, Mr. Badcock. I argued that since the determination of your mental state is essential to your case, as well as your health, you should be evaluated as soon as possible."

"And who would Judge Mencas deem as qualified to evaluate me?" Badcock questions. "I assume you've enlisted a professional with sterling credentials."

"You'll be seeing Dr. Manley Wellborn. He did his residency at Bellevue and is board certified. He'll be more than acceptable to the court. More to the point, several of my colleagues have successfully used his services. He's your best chance of receiving treatment instead of punishment."

Badcock snorts. "I don't need treatment. What I need is for the world to realize what garbage Richard Castle and all the rest of the falsely celebrated authors inflict on the world. I intend to make my message clear."

"Dr. Wellborn will understand you, Mr. Badcock," Kirby assures his client. "You'll have every chance to make your case."

"I suppose I'll have to trust you on that, Mr. Kirby."

"You can do that, Mr. Badcock. I've arranged an appointment for you tomorrow. It may take Dr. Wellborn the better part of the day to gather the data he needs to be your best witness in court."

"Fine," Simon agrees. "I look forward to talking with someone of reasonable intelligence."


	28. Chapter 28

Poison Pen

Chapter 27

"Is that from Diane Cavanaugh's mother?" Castle asks as Kate reviews a text on her cellphone while they wait for Bruce Sonnenfeld to appear.

"Yeah. She moved to Florida a few years after Diane was killed. It took me a while to track her down, but she wants to know who killed her daughter. I'll email her the paperwork when we get back to the precinct tomorrow and she can scan or overnight it back."

"Murray should have more for us in a few days, then," Rick assumes.

"I hope so, Castle." She checks her watch. "Sonnenfeld's shift is up. He drives a green Fusion. With the number of those on the road, it won't be easy following him."

"Blending in is one of the reasons I have Storm drive Fords. It's a lot easier to remain unnoticed with a more pedestrian car. It's also easier to get replacement parts. But the traffic cams will pick up Sonnenfeld's plate if we lose him, won't they?"

"Probably, but getting the feed will take time and won't necessarily tell us where he's going or what he does when he gets there. It will be better if I can stay on his tail. I wish Montgomery had another unit to spare, but…"

"I know, budget cuts. Ooh, is that him?"

"That's his plate. Here we go."

"He's heading uptown," Castle notes. "As I recall, his apartment is in the other direction."

"It is," Kate confirms. "He's not going home. I don't know how long this is going to take. If you need to get back to the loft, I can drop you near the subway."

"Not on your life. Alexis has a physics exam tomorrow, so she'll be curled up with a tome on subatomic particles. Mother is home too. She's studying a character for an audition. And I have a gut feeling that something about this case is going to pop tonight."

"He's turning west. He might be headed up to the Bronx. If he takes 79th Street, he'll be on the route with the least traffic. I'll have an idea where he's going and be able to hang back a little, at least until he picks a neighborhood. Your gut might be right, Castle."

"Unless it's reacting to the takeout we picked up. Those fried noodles were way beyond crisp. Oh, you called it, Kate. Bruce is bound for the Bronx."

* * *

Castle eyes the well-manicured grounds around an industrial center. "I was expecting abandoned warehouses providing a home for a hotbed of crime. This looks like half the business parks in this country."

"Except that most of those wouldn't have much activity this time of night. I only see lights on in a few suites. If we park in the shadow of the trees and use infrared, it shouldn't be hard to figure where Bruce is going."

Castle grins at her. I love it when you latch on to modern crime-busting tools. I might put a scene like this in the next book."

"You can't put it in the one you're writing now?" Kate asks.

"The lights would be a problem, but there is much to be said of Heat — or her inspiration — in the dark."

Kate grabs her infrared goggles from the back seat. "We can explore that later. He's pulling up at the building at the far end. I think the lights are in a suite on the sixth floor, and there's a warm body in it. Once Bruce is inside, we can get closer. What are you looking for on your phone?"

"Sixth-floor occupants of that building. There are three businesses with that address, but two of them are satellite offices of large corporations. I'm betting that Bruce is meeting up with someone from Speedy Lifts. A descriptive name."

"Speedy Lifts? Castle, are you kidding me?"

He turns the screen for her to see. "Swear to God."

* * *

"This better be important, Sonnenfeld," Milton Fruman declares as Bruce walks into the corner office at Speedy Lifts.

"It is. The police are investigating Dominic's death. They could get too close to us."

"It had nothing to do with us. You know that, Bruce. Greedy little bastard thought he could get big bucks for the book he found. I told him no dice. The guy who owns that thing is not someone to piss off. I warned Dom to send the thing back with an apology, as a way to keep his skin. Either he didn't or his apology wasn't accepted. Whatever happened, we're not part of it."

"I know, Bruce agrees, but if someone comes looking for that book, I could get pulled in. We all could."

Milton shakes his head. "If Dominic didn't have it on him when he was taken out, the killer probably made him spill where it was. There's no way that operation would leave a thing like that floating around. Don't worry about it. Just lay off lifting anything while the cops are still asking questions. Then we can get back to business. You've got a good thing going with us, Bruce. Don't let what happened to that idiot scare you."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sonnenfeld agrees. "I don't want to blow my deal now."

* * *

Castle watches the lights wink out and Bruce leaving the building, followed by another man. "I wish we could have heard their conversation."

"Yeah, me too," Kate agrees, "but bugging someone without dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's is a good way to get your evidence thrown out of court. We'll run a check on Speedy Lifts and see what turns up, but I think it's time to call it a night. I'll drop you at the loft."

Rick sighs. "I wish you were staying. I can't think of anything much better than waking up together."

"I'd like that too, Castle, but it's too soon for me to invade your family that way."

"It would hardly be an invasion, Kate. Alexis is cheerleading our relationship. So is Mother. But if you want to work up to it, come for breakfast tomorrow. We could go to the precinct together."

"Isn't that your family time?"

"Alexis will have her nose in a textbook, and mother will be immersed in her character. I'll make waffles, and I have whipped cream and strawberries."

Kate holds up her hand. "All right. You had me at waffles. Seven-thirty?"

"Perfect."

* * *

Given Badcock's history, Welborn isn't surprised that the man associated every one of his inkblots with a literary reference. He also wanted to correct the punctuation on one of the written tests. There's no doubt that the man is obsessive. He can report that much, but he's still not sure about what he can say about an inability to distinguish right from wrong.

Badcock has a code. That's clear enough. The question is, how far it strays from reality. The fastest way Welborn can think of figuring it out is to have Badcock write his manifesto. The man's own words should reveal the truth one way or another. He hands his subject a bound notebook and a pen.

Badcock stares disapprovingly at the ballpoint. "I don't suppose you have a fountain pen."

"I'm sorry, no," Wellborn admits. "But, I have a gel pen if you'd prefer it."

"Only incrementally better than a ballpoint," Badcock insists, but grudgingly accepts Wellborn's offering. Simon's already decided that Welborn is as much of a cretin as the other so-called experts he's encountered over the years. His written word, however, will speak for itself.


	29. Chapter 29

Poison Pen

Chapter 29

"Is this everything we have on Speedy Lifts?" Castle asks.

Kate nods, grimly staring down at the computer printouts. "The company incorporated as an LLC for the purpose of ridesharing. They're supposed to be something like Uber, except that they actually hire their drivers instead of going with the gig model."

"That would essentially make the company a car service," Castle points out, "but not one I've ever heard of."

"Probably because, according to this, they only own one car, a refurbished limo."

"Yeah, the guy who left after Sonnenfeld climbed into a white limo. It was hard to tell with just the lights in the parking lot, but it didn't look like a bad ride. He must be using it as his personal car."

"So why would he hire drivers?" Kate wonders, "unless they're using their own cars, which wouldn't match the description of his company in the paperwork."

"Or the description of the company isn't the real description of the company," Castle suggests. "Who set up the LLC?"

"A guy named Milton Fruman. He doesn't have a rap sheet, but there's not much else on him either, not even a chauffeur's license. Probably a fake identity."

"Right," Castle agrees. "So this Fruman sets up Speedy Lifts and looks for hires with experience as valets or servers, and in the market for more income. He drops his hints and comes up with guys like Dominic and Sonnenfeld to do the 'lifting.' Fruman or his crew follow the leads on targets, and the valets and servers get a finders fee or some kind of commission. But maybe Dominic finds something that Fruman won't touch, and he decides to go out on his own — and dies regretting it."

"In which case, the killer would be the owner of whatever was stolen. So if we catch Sonnenfeld and Fruman in the act, we should be able to leverage some information out of them. Too bad Sonnenfeld knows you. We could have used your Ferrari as a lure."

"Can't you get a drug car, like on 'Miami Vice,' that we can use for a sting?" Castle wonders.

"Maybe. That's more in Ryan's wheelhouse. I'll see what he can set up."

"Just make sure that if he's the one driving it, he isn't wearing a sweater vest," Castle urges.

Kate giggles. "I'll pass that on. So Castle, if Dominic lifted something that got him killed, what do you think he stole?"

"It would have to be small enough to be easily concealed in a car, without being in the trunk or the wheel well. A valet would be spotted searching those. He'd attract the least attention checking for anything he could reach from the driver's seat. That would mean in the console, the dash, the doors, or one of those web pockets in the seat well. Those are all places where you could keep a cellphone, a tablet, a manual, a small book, or drugs, maybe."

"I doubt that it would be drugs, Castle. Dominic could sell those on the street, and a narcotics ring could replace them. Killing Dominic would attract unwanted attention. A cellphone or tablet would be password-protected, and Dominic wasn't smart enough to be a hacker. I don't see why anyone would care about a manual."

"Me either," Castle agrees. "I just keep one in my car. So that leaves us with a small book, which could be anything; contacts, a record of transactions, or maybe even the key to a code. It would have to look interesting enough that Dominic would think it was valuable. He'd also know who owned it, or at least who was driving the car, but he tried to extort the wrong guy."

"Castle, if there was a book or something like that, it might be at Dominic's apartment. We need to search every inch of that place. If we find it, we might not need Sonnenfeld and Fruman, or they'd just be additional sources of evidence," Kate considers.

Castle bounces out of his chair next to Kate's desk. "Wow! Do we get to pry up the floorboards and everything?"

"If we need to," Kate allows, "but let's start with places we can reach without doing any damage to the premises. Dominic's keys are in his effects. We can use them to get in."

* * *

Castle gazes up at the dropped ceiling in Dominic's new apartment. "Kate, does that acoustic tile look off-kilter to you?"

"It does, Castle. The super probably has a ladder we can use. We can check."

"It's not that high, Beckett. You could climb on my shoulders."

"I'd skewer you, Castle. I'm wearing high-heeled boots."

"Kate. It's not as if I've never seen you in bare feet. You want me to pull them off for you?"

"That's OK, Castle, I've had plenty of practice." Momentarily slipping off her gloves, Kate drops to the floor, sliding off the soft leather sheathing her calves, before regloving and grabbing Castle's shoulders. "Give me a boost."

Castle cups the warmth of her rounded flesh as she climbs up his body, and supports her legs when she makes it to her perch. "See anything?"

"Dust, but there's something else up here." She sticks a fabric-bound ledger in her waistband. "I'm coming down now."

Castle braces her as Kate slides down his body. Ignoring her boots still lying on the floor, Kate pulls out her find. Castle peers over her shoulder. "Those look like records of some kind; names, addresses, dates, initials, fees - high fees. Flip to the front. Kate, they go back over a decade."

"Castle, there's one for the date when my mother was killed, and Diane Cavanaugh too. This guy could be the killer!"

Castle wraps his arms around her. "Are you OK?"

"Yes! More than OK! Castle, we may have stumbled on the clue I've needed all this time." Kate pages to the back. "The complete listings end a week before Dominic's death, but there's an entry for that night that wasn't checked off. The address is across town from Your Own Corner. The murderer must have been planning to make another hit after dinner, but didn't want his kill book sitting next to him on the table while he ate."

"Or maybe he made his kill," Castle suggests, "and never got a chance to record it."

"That address isn't in the jurisdiction of the 12th. The 54th would have picked up the case," Kate realizes. "We need to check with them about whether they're investigating a homicide from that night. And if not, we may have an undiscovered victim. I'll call over there right now."

Castle listens as Kate puts the call on speaker. The 54th doesn't have a body, but a Sergeant Kinney will be meeting them at the last address in the book. Kate drops the ledger into an evidence bag, making the notations necessary to maintain the chain of custody.

* * *

Before Sergeant Kinney opens the heavy wooden door of a refurbished brownstone to her and Castle, Kate knows there's a corpse inside. The smell of decomposition is unmistakable. "Have you called the M.E.?" she asks.

Kinney nods. "Dr. Perlmutter is on the way. From what I could tell without touching the body, the victim was stabbed, but there isn't much blood."

Kate turns to Castle. "That's like what Lanie said about Dominic. It was probably the same weapon."

"Do you think she and Perlmutter can work together?" Castle wonders.

"Believe it or not, Castle, they like each other. Lanie even goes to Perlmutter for advice sometimes. They'll be fine."

Castle wiggles his eyebrows. "Who would have thought Perlmutter has a friend?"


	30. Chapter 30

Poison Pen

Chapter 30

"Got the car," Ryan announces as Kate and Castle step off the elevator at the 12th.

"A Testa Rosa?" Castle asks hopefully.

"Better," Ryan insists, "an Aston Martin DBS V12. Ryan, Kevin Ryan," he adds in a bad imitation of a British accent.

Castle's eyes sweep the detective's pullover and comfortably baggy pants. "I can direct you to my tailor if you'd like to be fitted for a tuxedo."

"That shouldn't be necessary," Kate remarks. "N.Y.P.D. detectives maintain an extensive undercover wardrobe. We should have something that will make Ryan look like he fits in that car."

"Just nothing used for Vice," Ryan warns. "I don't have the legs for short skirts and spike heels."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that," Castle declares. "Let's get you a reservation at Your Own Corner."

"He'll need a phony identity to go with the car," Kate notes. "Sonnenfeld or anyone else involved will have to think he's worth ripping off."

"Already taken care of," Ryan reveals. "I have one from when I worked undercover five years ago. It's never been blown. The address associated with the legend is a seized estate in Queens used for drug stings. Anyone shows up there; we can grab them."

"Hmm," Castle murmurs, "I'm going to have to write a more talented Raley."

Ryan stares at the writer. "What are you talking about, Castle?"

"Never mind," Kate instructs. "While we're waiting for results from Perlmutter and CSU on the victim from the 54th, let's get this operation underway."

* * *

Manley Wellborn studies the output of a program designed to analyze what Badcock wrote in his manifesto. That the author is narcissistic is no surprise. That he has little regard for the thoughts and feelings of others isn't either. He is a killer. That's undisputed. Whether all of that adds up to the legal definition of insanity is still a question. The word count on references to right and wrong is high; the application of the concepts is just horrendously skewed.

There are many situations in which society considers killing acceptable or even laudable. War heroes are honored, as are cops who shoot snipers aiming down on busy streets. Badcock decided to kill those he considered as violating his own standards of good and evil. What it comes down to is grasping societal means. In that, Badcock fails miserably.

Wellborn does not doubt that Badcock's failure is due to mental illness or defect. He has to say so in court. He just hopes that the judge considers Badcock enough of a danger to others to keep him securely locked up, even in a psychiatric facility. He reaches into the drawer of his desk for his bottle of Zantac. Assignments like this always throw his stomach into a rage. Perhaps he should consider a different specialty.

* * *

Perlmutter gestures Lanie to the table in the cafeteria of the M.E. facility, where he's enjoying homemade kugel. "Join me, Dr. Parish. I have enough to share, and I wanted to compare notes about the two bodies discovered by Detective Beckett and — that writer."

Lanie rolls her eyes. "Meaning Castle. Sidney, if you got to know him, you'd find out he's a good guy. He's helped Kate, Detective Beckett, a lot. And thanks for the offer, but I'll stick with my salad. I'm off carbs."

"We shouldn't have dilettantes trampling all over our crime scenes," Perlmutter protests, "but Castle is the last person I want to discuss. And it's your loss about the kugel. What did you discover about the weapon used to kill Dominic Farrell?"

"It was what I thought, a barbed blade that can shred organs. The traces of metal in the wound indicate that it was made of A2 steel. I don't see that very often."

Perlmutter forks up another bite of his noodle casserole. "That's because A2 is used for high-grade custom weapons. I found the same trace for Luther Frontiere, the other victim."

"Clark Murray should be coming up with results for Kate's mother and the other body she had exhumed. If there's a match, that weapon and that killer have been tearing people up for a long time. I hope Kate finally stops him."

"I just hope she isn't tripping over Castle while she goes after him," Perlmutter grumbles.

"Sidney, are you jealous?" Lanie wonders.

"Me, no. I'd rather stick with a dog than worry about a woman. But I think Detective Beckett would be perfect for my brother Edgar."

Lanie spears a chunk of tomato. "I wouldn't hold your breath about that, Sidney."

* * *

Castle examines the construction of Ryan's suit. "Good thing that you wear a standard size. If you don't look too closely, you can't tell this is off the rack. And the shoes aren't bad either; not handmade, but Italian. In the dark and with the dim lighting in Your Own Corner, you should pass for someone who can afford the Aston Martin."

"Just make sure you take your time eating your dinner. You want to give the valet plenty of time to search the car," Kate urges.

"No problem. I figured it would look less suspicious if I took a date. One of the female detectives I knew when I worked narcotics is going with me."

"Montgomery's head will explode when he sees the expense account for that," Kate predicts, "but it makes sense. Our killer must have had a date with him too. None of the checks I went over was for a single."

"I wonder if he dropped her off or she was in on killing Luther Frontiere," Castle muses.

"If she was, she'd make a hell of a witness," Kate responds, "but with the hits in the book going that far back, the monster is careful."

"A careful monster," Castle considers. "Sounds like a character on some twisted version of 'Sesame Street.'"

Kate's fingernails dig into her palms. "More than twisted."

* * *

Sonnenfeld surveys the message from a valet named Niles, one of Fruman's newer recruits. An Aston Martin! And Sonnenfeld's serving the driver and his date. They put in a full order, starting with appetizers. They'll probably be behind the curtains for hours — plenty of time. Fruman wanted the operation to cool down, but the cops are gone. Detective Beckett hasn't called him or any of the other staff he knows about with more questions. The coast should be clear. His thumbs hesitate over his cell's keyboard for a moment. Hell, this could be a great haul. He gives Niles the go.

In a police van parked near the restaurant lot, Kate presses her headphones more tightly against her ears. "You hear something?" Castle asks.

"Papers rustling. Maybe a compartment opening and closing."

Esposito picks up another headset. "The valet's searching the car all right. He'd have to be blind not to find the detailing receipt with the Queens address on it."

Kate nods. "I've got a unit circling the estate, waiting for someone to show up."

"With that transmitter embedded in the $50 that Ryan's going to hand the valet, we shouldn't have any trouble following him if he goes to Fruman," Esposito continues. "And if he or Sonnenfeld just call, our guys will spot Fruman and/or his crew in action."

"Do we get to be in on the takedown?" Castle wonders.

"I wouldn't miss it," Kate declares. "I have a lot of questions for any would-be burglars. It may be more questions than they have ever heard in their lives."

Castle studies the determination on her face. He almost feels sorry for any thieves that end up across the table from her in the box.


	31. Chapter 31

Poison Pen

Chapter 31

"What's your husband doing tonight, Bridget?" Ryan askes his dining companion as she samples a stuffed mushroom.

Detective O'Malley closes her eyes, savoring the umami for a moment before reaching for another appetizer. "He has a family dinner. The O'Malleys are a big clan. He has three brothers and a sister, Jenny. He said something about cheering her up because she just broke up with her boyfriend. I think you'd like her. She's a lot like you — heart of mush."

"Oh, come on, Bridget," Ryan begs, "I'm here on the job, not for a fix-up."

"I'm telling you, Kevin, I think you two would be a perfect match. Tell you what. Jenny's at the Shamrock Pub Friday nights. She likes to watch the darts games. I know you like to play. Why not toss a few and see what happens. You could even bring that macho partner of yours to drag you out of there if you don't click with her."

Ryan dips a hunk of bread in a shallow dish of oil. "You're not giving up on trying to matchmake, are you?"

"I like Jenny, and sometimes I even like you. And if she's happy, my husband will stop worrying about her. So what do you say, Kevin? Play a little, down a couple, and see what happens?"

Ryan shrugs, sighing. "I might as well. You're not going to lay off me until I do."

* * *

"It's been almost an hour since that valet searched the car and sent his messages," Kate notes. "Someone should be showing up in Queens by now." Her text alert echoes from the van's metal walls. "There's an SUV pulling up by a back door of the estate. That's got to be Fruman's crew."

"Are you going to send your people after them, Beckett?" Castle inquires.

"So far, we don't have anything except trespassing. We want to catch those guys with their hands in the cookie jar. We'll give it a few minutes before the team moves in, but I want to head down there now."

"I'm going to stay here to back up Ryan," Esposito decides.

"Good idea," Kate agrees. "You stay in the van. Castle and I will take my unit. If this goes down the way we think, you and Ryan can meet us at the 12th."

* * *

The opening notes of Phantom of the Opera emanate from Castle's phone as Kate picks up Grand Central Parkway. "That's Murray. He must be working late. You want me to put it on speaker?"

Kate feels a layer of moisture forming between the palms of her hands and the steering wheel and does her best to ignore it. "Yeah, go ahead, Castle."

"Rick," Murray's voice rises above its normal pitch. "There were marks on the bones in both bodies as well as microscopic metal slivers. I was able to do a better reconstruction of the weapons. They were both forged from A2 steel of identical composition, probably from the same source. The knife that killed Johanna Beckett appears to have been a military-style blade with some serrations, the kind that might be carried by special forces. The configuration of the weapon used on Diane Cavanaugh doesn't match anything in my databases. It may be uniquely designed to inflict maximum damage and pain with a minimum of external bleeding."

"Doctor Murray, you should contact Lanie Parish and Sidney Perlmutter," Kate suggests. "That sounds like a match to a weapon used on two victims they autopsied, Dominic Farrell and Luther Frontiere. We also have other evidence that points to a connection between the cases, that could bring us closer to a killer or killers."

"I'm acquainted with Dr. Parish and know Dr. Perlmutter very well. I'll consult with both of them," Murray promises. "Take care, you two, the wielder or wielders of those weapons are ruthless."

"We will, Clark," Castle pledges. "Kate, do you think there might be two killers?" Castle asks, after hanging up. "The hits are in the same book."

"It may be one who uses both weapons, or two working together," Kate muses. "I'll ask CSU to have their handwriting expert look at the book. If there are two killers, she should be able to pick up on it."

"We're getting close to the estate," Castle notes. "The raiders of the parked cars should be cuffed and waiting for us."

* * *

Squirming in the box, the sweat stain around the inside of Lionel Pilcher's collar is spreading as Castle watches him wilt under Kate's glare. "The robberies weren't my idea," he pleads. "I applied for a job as a driver and got pulled in. I didn't want to do anything wrong, I swear."

"So, you're an innocent dupe?" Kate presses.

"Yes, that's right," Lionel hastily agrees.

"And who exactly was it that duped you?" Castle inquires.

"Milton Fruman. It was all Milton Fruman. He put everything together."

"The Milton Fruman who runs Speedy Lifts in the Bronx?" Kate queries.

"That's him," Lionel confirms. "You check him out. You'll see. He's behind all of it."

Kate pushes a legal pad and a pen across the table. "Fine. You write down everything you know about Milton Fruman and Speedy Lifts, and we'll get on that."

Lionel grabs for the pen. "Yes, I'll do that. I'll do that right now."

* * *

Castle stretches and yawns as Pilcher is led off to holding. "Quite a night." He consults his watch. "One a.m. Are you going to pick up Fruman, Kate?"

"The address on his incorporation papers is a mail drop, and Pilcher wasn't sure where his boss lives. The only location we have that works is Speedy Lifts. I'll send a unit to get him, but I doubt he'll be there. By now, he has to know something went wrong. If he's gone, we'll have to scrub traffic cam footage for his limo to figure out where he went. Go home, Castle. Be there for Alexis in the morning. I'll give you a call if anything happens before then."

"Will you be able to get any rest?" Castle asks.

"I'll catch a nap on the couch in Montgomery's office until I find out whether we've picked up Fruman or not. If he's in the wind, I'll go home for a while."

Castle grabs a quick kiss. "Good. If nothing pops sooner, I'll see you in about eight hours."

"Sleep tight, Castle."

* * *

Repeatedly pacing the short hall of his apartment, Milton Fruman tries to figure out what to do. He should have held Sonnenfeld back and told him to have Niles leave the Aston Martin alone. He has no idea what happened to his crew, but it can't be good. If one of them spills his guts… Well, he has a little time to think. None of his Speedy Lifts people know where he lives, and he's not about to go back to the office. He ditched his limo two subway stops away and took the train home. Still, the N.Y.P.D. can track him down eventually. The Florida cops almost got him in his previous identity. Fortunately, he had most of his funds stowed offshore. He still does. He can abandon his New York operation, sweet as it is, and start again. He just needs a plan and a destination. Rubbing his gritty eyes doesn't help. A few hours of sleep, and he'll see and think more clearly. It will take the cops much longer than that to track him down. He'll slip the noose. He always does.


	32. Chapter 32

Poison Pen

Chapter 32

"What did I miss?" Castle asks, puffing from the elevator to Kate's desk in the bullpen. "Alexis put together a bunch of stuff for her art class collage, so I helped her get it all to school."

Kate looks up at him, satisfaction lighting her face. "Actually, your timing is perfect. A uniformed unit spotted Fruman's limo from my BOLO. It was parked in the closest lot to a subway station, and there were a few traffic cam captures of him along the route from Speedy Lifts to that lot. We also got last night's platform video. Fruman was on it. Tech is using facial recognition on the footage from nearby stations. We should turn up the one closest to where he lives, pretty soon."

"That's still going to give you a pretty big haystack," Castle realizes. "The stations are about half a mile apart or more. A little back of the envelope geometry would have you canvassing every domicile in over ¾ of a square mile."

"We've had a lot bigger search areas," Kate points out, "and fortunately, in this one, there are a lot of businesses and not that many residential buildings. As soon as we have the exact radius pinned down, we can take Ryan and Esposito and get over there. It should be in the jurisdiction of the 54th. They're already involved in Luther Frontiere's murder. Kinney will give us whatever help we need."

"The last time I went from door to door, I was taking Alexis around to sell Girl Scout cookies, and I ended up buying three cases of Thin Mints for myself," Castle recalls. "But I'm game."

"Ooh, I love Thin Mints! You wouldn't still have any stowed away, would you?" Kate wonders.

"Gone in the proverbial flash, but I didn't eat all of them," Rick explains. "Alexis hosted an all-night Monopoly Marathon. As I remember, the youngsters represented by the car and the cat were the most enthusiastic consumers. I'd suggest taking a few Girl Scouts with us to induce cookie cravers to open their doors, but sadly it's the wrong time of year."

"There are very few standalone homes in that area, mostly apartments and condos. We can save a lot of time by showing Fruman's face to building managers and supers," Kate assumes.

"But they won't be nearly as glad to see us, as they would purveyors of boxed deliciousness," Castle asserts.

"Probably not," Kate agrees, "but we'll manage,"

* * *

Margaret Langhorn shoves her wrench into her leather toolbelt and squints at the image on Kate's phone. "Yeah, I recognize him. Clogged up his toilet three damn times. But then men can be full of sh*t." Margaret glances up at Castle. "No offense."

"None taken," Castle assures her. "I've observed the phenomenon, especially when the Beany Burrito truck shows up at the precinct."

Kate clears her throat. "What apartment is Mr. Fruman in, Ms. Langhorn?"

Margaret points to Fruman's picture. "This guy rented his place as Palmer, Leroy Palmer, not Fruman, but he's in 6C."

Kate leads Castle up the steps from the basement and to the front of the building as she calls in Ryan and Esposito for backup. "We'll wait for the boys here and go up to the sixth floor together when they arrive. That way, if Fruman tries to leave before they get here, we'll spot him."

"Good strategy," Castle acknowledges, "but it looks like he's coming not going. Isn't that him walking this way?"

Kate hastily pulls her blazer over the badge on her belt and molds her face into her brightest smile. "Excuse me. We're a little turned around. Can you tell me where the nearest subway station is?"

Fruman shifts a drugstore bag containing travel sizes of toothpaste, shampoo, and deodorant to his left hand and points with his right. "You go four blocks that way, and you can't miss it."

Kate reveals her badge and reaches for her weapon. "You can't miss this either. Milton Fruman, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit theft. Turn around. You have the right to remain silent," Kate intones, snapping her handcuffs on Fruman as Ryan and Esposito arrive. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me_?"_

"I'll speak to you to tell you you've got the wrong guy," Fruman claims. "I'm Leroy Palmer."

"When we check your fingerprints and DNA, we'll see about that," Kate assures him.

* * *

Kate slaps a file on the table in Interrogation. "You were telling the truth that you're not Milton Fruman. But you're not Leroy Palmer either. According to the national database, you are Percy Redfern, and you're wanted in Florida for theft, fraud, and conspiracy. But Percy, we'll worry about that later. Your activities, or those of one of your co-conspirators, precipitated a murder."

"I didn't kill anyone," Percy protests.

"But you may have knowledge of who did. Your cohort, Dominic Farrell, appears to have met his end as a result of rifling through cars on your instructions. He found something that got him killed."

"Look, I told him not to tangle with those people. I begged him to send it back, to grovel if he had to. But he didn't listen. Dominic's death was his own damn fault. I had nothing to do with it."

"If you want to prove that, tell us who killed him," Kate demands.

"It was a hitter for the Dragon. From what I've heard, there are two of them that carry out his regular contracts. Word is, they compete with each other. If you want to do business in this town, you know about them and what happens if you piss them or the Dragon off."

Kate shakes her head. "The Dragon is an urban legend. Cops have been chasing their tails over it for years."

If he's a legend, then Dominic wouldn't be dead," Fruman insists. "The hitter who took him out goes by Hal Lockwood, or at least that was the name on the papers for his long-term rental from Comfort Ride. Tall guy, he was driving a Kia K900, the car with the most legroom. Dominic found something that belonged to Lockwood, or maybe worse, the Dragon himself."

"A book?" Castle queries.

"Yeah, a book, a ledger, whatever you want to call it," Percy confirms. "Lockwood or the Dragon sure didn't want it floating around."

"Who's the other hitter, and who's the Dragon?" Kate demands.

"The other hitter is called Rathborne, but that's probably an alias. I'm not high enough on the food chain to know who the Dragon is. That's healthier for me — people who spill that kind of information end up like Dominic. You get Lockwood and he'll know. But watch out, Detective. Dragon's fire can burn you alive."

"Do you believe him?" Castle asks as Kate hands off Percy to L.T. to be escorted to holding.

"About the Dragon? I don't believe in a mythical all-powerful crime boss, but there have always been signs in this city that someone very connected holds a lot of power." Kate strides to the murder board. "Regardless, what's in front of us this moment are the murders of Dominic Farrell and Luther Frontiere. We start with talking to Comfort Ride about Lockwood, and go from there."


	33. Chapter 33

Poison Pen

Chapter 32

"A Hal Lockwood who rented a Kia K900," the clerk at Comfort Ride repeats, his fingers moving at a snail's pace over his keyboard. "Lockwood, Lockwood, yeah, here he is. He still has the car."

"Does it have G.P.S.?" Kate queries.

"No, there was a note on the contract that he didn't want it."

"That figures," Castle remarks.

"Do you have an address for Lockwood?" Kate presses.

"He gave us a permanent address in Idaho. For being in the city this long, he probably went for one of the corporate suites. A lot of our longer-term clients do."

"How about a credit card?"

"He gave us a cash binder and deposit. That's unusual, but some customers prefer it. They're afraid of being hacked or ripped off or something. It's better for us, too. We don't have to pay processing fees."

Kate's teeth dig into her bottom lip. "Did you at least get a phone number?"

"Yeah. Sure. He gave us his mobile. Here, I'll run a copy of this for you."

A printer hums and spits out a few sheets that the clerk hands to Kate. "Anything else? We have a great promotion going, rent for two weeks, get the third week free. Great if you have family coming for an extended visit."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kate responds drily.

Kate shakes her head as Rick takes his seat beside her in her unit. "What do you want to bet the phone number is a burner?"

"I wouldn't take that bet," Castle replies, "but aren't corporate rental facilities a place to start? Lockwood would want one where his comings and goings could go unnoticed. We think he had a date at Your Own Table. So a thirst for privacy would especially stand if he's found himself a girlfriend. Maybe he met her at the rental or in the neighborhood. We should look for a place with private entrances. And we could start with the route between Your Own Corner and Luther Frontiere's place. Lockwood might have dropped her off on his way to work, so to speak."

Kate taps her fingertips against the wheel. "That's a lot of supposition, Castle. I'll check on the phone, but if we're right about it being a burner, looking into your ideas about the rental is better than nothing. What I'm wondering about is why the Dragon would hire someone whose roots aren't in New York?"

"Maybe he sends Lockwood on jobs in other locales," Castle speculates. "If he has that much power, he may have national or even international connections."

"And if he decided to terminate Lockwood, no one local would come looking for him," Kate adds. "All of that would make a girlfriend a casual thing."

"Or maybe she was a rental too," Castle suggests, "a lady of the night who caters to the needs of out of town visitors."

"That's possible, Castle," Kate muses. "In which case, Vice might have a line on her and the venues she serves. That would give us two threads to pick up. They'd be slim, but better than nothing."

Castle reaches for his phone. "If the Dragon has become an urban legend, people must have been writing about him for a long time. There should be a kernel of truth in some of it. I can do a search on this thing with Google and some of the other engines, but I can get into the meat of it better with a couple of the subscription services I have at home. You could drop me off and chase down leads from N.Y.P.D. sources, then we can put our heads together later, maybe over dinner. Alexis is going to a fencing tournament with her club this evening and from Mother's humming this morning, she has an assignation. We should have the place to ourselves."

"Sounds good, Castle, Can I bring anything?"

"Just your remarkable self."

* * *

"Hookers who specialize in long-term visitors," Sergeant McKenzie, Vice's finest, considers. "There aren't many of those, Detective Beckett. Most of the working girls prefer to get it done and move onto their next john. Their pimps push them in that direction too. They don't want any entanglements or to have the fillies in their stable decide to take to the track on their own. And from what you've told me, you need someone who would fit in at an upscale joint like Your Own Corner. That winnows down your possibilities even further. I would suggest stepping into the Wading Pool."

"I'm not familiar with that term," Kate admits.

McKenzie chuckles into his phone. "It's not a term, Detective. It's a bar within two blocks of two corporate housing facilities, that's the likeliest place for your suspect to have found his date. Check it out. Things tend to start picking up there at happy hour."

Kate's nod goes unseen. "I'll do that."

* * *

On stepping through the door of the Wading Pool at 4 p.m., Kate immediately feels underdressed. No halter tops and thigh-high boots here. Most of the men at the bar and at the tables are in suits and ties. The women are sporting business casual, with tailored blazers over dresses and conservative jewelry. A man could as easily take one to a corporate function as a fancy restaurant. Would a hitman be interested in someone like that? Maybe. If he wanted to blend in with the business world, she'd be a perfect cover. And there's no judging what other talents the ladies might possess. Kate needs someone who might attract the right attention, someone with custom-made suits and overpriced ties. She needs Castle.

* * *

Rick sets a dessert platter of cheese, fruit, and chocolate on the table between him and Kate. "You've been looking like you've wanted to ask me about something —besides the results of my computer search — ever since you got here. What's going on, Kate?"

Kate gazes longingly at the chocolate. "I went to a bar this afternoon, one where Vice thought Lockwood's girlfriend might hang out, but I didn't stay long, I don't think I'm the person to extract information from that particular clientele, but you might have more luck."

Castle's eyebrows leap upward. "You want me to go to a bar and try to pick up girls?"

"More like let yourself be picked up by a girl — to a point. See if you can find out anything about Lockwood. You could talk to the guys there too. Someone might know where he's staying. Come on, Castle! Wouldn't it be a great scene for your book to have Jameson Rook go undercover — that is as long as he doesn't end up under the covers with anyone but Nikki."

"Of course," Castle agrees. "How much fun would that be? But," he continues, consulting his watch, "we do have time for a little undercover work right now. Alexis won't be home for at least another hour, and Mother may not show up until after sunrise. What do you say, Kate? Can you gird my loins against the advances I might encounter in a den of alcoholic iniquity?"

Kate fingers his belt buckle. "I suppose that it's my duty to protect my potential source in any way possible. And I have become quite fond of your loins." Pushing out of her chair, Kate extends her hand to him. "Let's see what I can do."

Castle grins. "With you all the way."


	34. Chapter 34

Poison Pen

Chapter 34

Within inches of the bed, Kate drops Rick's hand and turns to face him. Rising on her toes, her mouth captures his. As if adrift from gravity, they tumble together, to be cushioned by mattress and comforter. "I missed you," Kate whispers, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

"I missed you too," Castle confesses. "I found some tantalizing bits about the Dragon, but you weren't next to me to hear about them or build on them. It was like I lost my warp drive."

"Castle, are you comparing me to a wormhole?"

"As a path to the places and experiences heretofore unimaginable."

"Then shouldn't we be pulling out of space dock to continue our explorations?"

Castle pulls her top over her head and unclasps her bra, freeing breasts already anxious for first contact. "By all means, let's engage."

* * *

As the strength slowly returns to her limbs, Kate snuggles against the warmth of Castle's bare skin. "Somewhere in the spaceflight metaphors, did you tell me that you found information on the Dragon?"

Sighing, Rick wraps his arms around her slim form. "I believe I mentioned it. As you might guess, I didn't discover any straight-up news articles, but there was a lot of speculation based on rumors and anonymous tips. The story seems to go that about 20 years ago, a New York City official with a lot of juice was making sure that criminals who played ball with him got a free pass. Eventually, he took control of many criminal operations, including numbers, prostitution, and particularly drugs. The word was that he was the power behind a major distributor named Vulcan Simmons, who worked out of Washington Heights."

"Washington Heights! That's the area my mother and Diane Cavanaugh tried to clean up. That would support the theory that the Dragon sent Rathborne and Lockwood after them."

"But there was never any hard evidence, Kate. Charges against Simmons' street dealers were dropped on technicalities. No one could ever hold Simmons himself for more than an hour or two. Witnesses disappeared or worse.

"As the years passed, the theory was that the Dragon moved up to a higher position than he had held in the city, but was still pulling strings. It would seem that he still is."

"Any theories as to who he might be?" Kate asks.

"There were quite a few; the mayor, the head of the City Council, and later the Public Advocate. One of the prime candidates at the time your mother was killed was the D.A., William Bracken, but no one dug into him much because he maintained a close relationship with the police commissioner. He was also pals with the sitting governor. Eventually, he became a congressman and then a senator."

"Right, I've seen his name on my junk mail. He's running for reelection."

"And if he's funded by drug money, he'd have a huge war chest. It would be impossible for anyone to seriously challenge him," Castle points out.

Kate kicks away the bedclothes and springs to her feet. "Unless we nail Bracken for decades of crime."

"That's a hell of a big 'if,' Kate. As I said, there was no hard evidence."

"We need to collar Lockwood. If he connects that ledger to Bracken, we'll have evidence, a ton of … Was that the door?"

Castle hurriedly swings his legs over the side of the bed as bootie heels click against the hardwood floor of the great room. "That's Alexis. The tournament must have ended early." He hurriedly dons his discarded clothes, and finger combs his hair. "I'll go greet my wandering child while you finish getting dressed. Then we can review what I found about the Dragon and Bracken. I'm not going to lie to my daughter, but I'm not going to mention that we were doing anything together except research either."

"If she's her father's daughter," Kate murmurs, "you won't have to."

* * *

Castle brushes a speck of lint from his suit jacket and straightens his tie before walking through the door of The Wading Pool. His tie bar is transmitting an image to Kate, who's parked in the lot at the end of the block. The com hidden deep in his ear can send and receive audio that Kate can record. With the limited power of a tiny battery, the device doesn't have much range, but it doesn't need it. That Kate is close by is a little inhibiting, but also comforting.

Rick takes a seat on a high stool at the bar and studies what the other patrons are drinking, a mix of trendy India pale ales and hard liquor. He decides that whiskey will better suit his character but orders some _chile con queso _and chips to soak up some of the alcohol. The split-screen above the bar displays a football game and market closings. Castle isn't fascinated with either, but keeping his eyes in that direction enables him to observe the Wading Pool's other occupants in the mirror behind bottles of overpriced alcoholic beverages."

A woman slides onto the stool next to Rick and smiles. "Who's winning?"

"Apple, but Alibaba is gaining."

Rick prefers Kate's giggle to his new companion's studied laughter. "I meant the football game, not the stock quotes."

"I have no idea," Castle, confesses. "I'm not fascinated by bread and circuses; I prefer my victories on a more worldwide scale."

"A man who goes for the big score. I like that. I've never enjoyed short yardage gains. I'm Nanette."

"Richard, and I believe we share a similar philosophy, Nanette. May I buy you a drink?"

"Laphroaig, 10-year cask single malt," Nanette replies, matching what Rick ordered for himself.

Castle signals to the bartender. "We do have much in common."

"So, Richard," Nanette inquires, taking a sip of her whiskey, "what type of big scores do you make?"

"I specialize in mergers and acquisitions, striking when a company is down and capitalizing successfully on its most promising assets. I'm in town for a few months to close a deal."

"In town from where? You sound like a native."

"I grew up here," Castle confides truthfully. "But I've been to much of the world. I try to keep my residency fluid to take full advantage of globalization. Do you like to travel?"

"I like travelers," Nanette replies, leaning into Castle's space. "You have an energy about you that I find very stimulating. I could show you what I mean. I have a place not far from here, or if you're staying at Corporate Suites, we could go there."

"You seem familiar with the accommodations in the area," Castle remarks.

"As I said, I enjoy travelers, and they enjoy me."

"Get a price, Castle." Kate's voice sounds in Rick's ear.

"How much is that enjoyment worth, Nanette?"

"About the same as a week's stay in the top suite."

"Pretty stiff."

Nanette palms the area below Castle's belt. "It could be getting there."

"I'm sure it could," Castle agrees. "But I do have discerning tastes. I need to know what services you offer _à la carte_."

Nanette rubs her thigh against Rick's. "Let's get out of here, and I'll give you a recitation of my extensive menu."

Rick slides off his stool and offers Nanette his hand. "I'm sure you have a very talented tongue. I'm looking forward to hearing the full list."

Green flashing in her eyes, Kate forces a smile. Castle's managed to coax enough of a solicitation out of Nanette to give them the leverage they need to question her about Lockwood. With any luck, he's another of the traveler-loving hooker's clients.


	35. Chapter 35

Poison Pen

Chapter 35

"Even a legal aid lawyer could get me off on this one," Nanette insists. "No money changed hands, and I wasn't the one who brought up a price. It was entrapment."

"I'm not going to argue the legality of a solicitation charge with you, Nanette," Kate declares, calmly lounging in her chair in Interrogation. "I'm a homicide cop. Vice can worry about how you offer your services. But I can hold you for 24 hours, and given the price range that you quoted to my associate, the loss of that much cash could make a serious dent in your revenue. So suppose we help each other. Did one of your clients take you to Your Own Corner, recently?"

"Yeah, a guy who calls himself Hal. He said he had an important job to do that night, and he wanted to loosen up with some fun and games first. He was turned on doing it in a public place. But getting him off behind the curtains in a restaurant isn't a big deal compared to some of the requests I get. We had dinner; he shot his wad, and then dropped me off before he went to take care of his other business."

"What kind of vehicle was he driving?" Castle queries.

"One of those big cars that lower-level execs rent to drive their business pals around. Not a caddy or anything. I think it was a Kia. After I got out, it looked to me like he was searching for something he had in there, but I didn't stick around to find out."

Rick and Kate lock glances before she stands and leans over Nanette, staring down at the upscale hooker. "Here's your money question. Where is this Hal staying?"

"Corporate Suites, deluxe wing, 1C. Now, can I get out of here?"

Kate knocks her fist against the surface of the table."As soon as we confirm your story."

* * *

Lowering his night scope, Esposito points. "There's the car, parked in front of 1C. And I saw motion behind the curtains. "Lockwood is in there, Beckett."

Kate nods, breathing as deeply as she can within the restriction of her Kevlar vest. "OK. I'll have ESU cover the back and sides in case he tries to get out a window or something. You, Ryan, and I will go in from the front behind the guys with body armor and shields. Lockwood could have all kinds of weapons in there. Castle, I need you to stay back. Lockwood's been taking lives for decades; he's got nothing to lose by trying to eliminate anyone or anything in his way."

"Including you, Ryan and Esposito, Kate," Castle points out. "Your vest won't help if he shoots you in the head. Let the attack squad storm the gates and take Lockwood down before you move in." his expression softens. "I have plans for a victory party that involve chocolate as well as many other pleasures.

"Then we'll have to survive, Castle. We'll be careful."

Even without the feed from a concealed fiber-optic camera streaming into his suite, Lockwood would know he's in trouble from the activity in the parking lot outside. He has his Kalashnikov, although he prefers not to use it. Up close and personal with his favorite barbed blade is both quieter and more satisfying. He has a Browning high power 9mm as well. If he's lucky and there are minimal forces outside his bathroom window, he'll be able to take them out and make his escape. As Hal peers through the slats in a miniblind, pistol in hand, he hears his door crashing inward under the pressure of a battering ram. He empties his clip at the invaders before bullets penetrate his shoulder and thigh, and he collapses against the shower stall.

* * *

"When can I talk to him, Doctor?" Kate demands of the surgeon who extracted the bullets from her prisoner.

"It may take him anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours to fully come out of the anesthesia, while he's monitored in recovery. You might as well get a cup of coffee or something while you wait," the physician advises. "I can have someone text you when he is stable and fully conscious."

Kate drums her fingers against her thigh. "I'd appreciate that."

"So," Castle wonders after Kate passes on her cellphone number, "the cafeteria, the Java Hut cart in the lobby, or do you want to roll the dice and try the vending machines?"

"'D,' none of the above," Kate replies. "But you go ahead if you want something. And you must want to check on Alexis."

"I did that every time you were on the phone reporting to Montgomery. She ordered Chinese and decided to turn in early. She has a Lit quiz in," he checks his watch, "about four hours from now, and she's meeting her friend Paige before school, for Jolly Juice and a quick review. She'll be missing out on my 'good luck pancakes,' but she'd rather hang with Paige anyway."

"Hanging with friends is what teenage girls do, Castle," Kate points out. "And Jolly Juice is probably a healthier start than pancakes."

"Maybe, but it won't give her a chocolate chip smile. Anyway, all is well on the homefront. It's been a long night." Rick taps his shoulder. "If you want to catch a quick, pre-interrogation nap, you're welcome to snuggle in."

"Thanks, Castle. That sounds nice."

* * *

"Sonofabitch!" Coonan checks the caller ID on his phone. What the hell is his boss doing calling him this time of morning?

The voice on the phone doesn't bother with pleasantries, but Coonan doesn't expect any. "The cops shot Lockwood."

"Is he still alive?" Coonan asks.

"Yeah, which is clearly a problem for both of us. Take care of it. My source says he's under guard at Bellevue."

"It's not going to be easy getting to him," Coonan realizes.

"If it were easy, I wouldn't need you," the voice retorts. "Do it before he has a chance to talk to the cops. You don't have much time."

Coonan lays down the phone. He hates doing jobs this way. He likes to plan every detail and savor every step. Sh*t! The Dragon hasn't given him time to plan anything. If he's going to get near Lockwood, he'll need an identity the watchdogs won't question. Shifts in hospitals change pretty early. If he can grab someone coming on duty, he can obtain an ID that he can modify if need be. But he'll have to hurry.

* * *

Nurse Justin Geiger is running late. He hadn't expected to be on duty that morning and had stayed up late skyping with his fiancée, who's deployed in a medical unit in Afghanistan. She was full of plans for their wedding when she rotates home. He received the call that he'd be needed at the hospital, just a few hours later. A major accident flooded the trauma unit with patients, and it will be all hands on deck to care for them. Justin feels an arm come around his neck as he hurries from the staff parking area to the nearest entrance to the hospital. Blood flow to his brain ceases. There will never be a wedding.

Coonan smiles as he examines his victim. His choice couldn't have been more perfect. The dead nurse is almost the same size and coloring as Coonan. They even look a little alike. He won't have to alter the ID, just steal some scrubs and a syringe and locate Lockwood.


	36. Chapter 36

Poison Pen

Chapter 36

A text alert from her cellphone jolts Kate to instant awareness. "Is Lockwood awake?" Castle asks.

"Yeah." Kate strains against sleep-stiffened knees to get to her feet. "Let's go."

Castle follows Kate to find Lockwood's room, and she approaches the uniformed officer standing guard. "Everything secure inside?"

"Fine, Detective. Lockwood's been here for a few minutes, and a nurse just went in to check on him."

Castle peeps through the doorway, spotting a male nurse pulling a syringe out of his pocket and grasping the tubing of Lockwood's IV.

Lockwood stares up at Coonan's face, attempting to lunge at the assassin. "Get that mutherf*****r away from me!"

Charging into the room, Kate reaches for her weapon as Castle grabs for the nurse's arm. Castle struggles to pry the syringe from Coonan's grasp. "A little help here."

The officer-guard rushes into the fray to wrestle the syringe away. "It's empty!"

"The perfect weapon to kill a post-surgical patient," Castle pants. "Inject some air in a vein, and it causes an embolism. Everyone assumes the victim had an unfortunate complication. Not that he didn't deserve one."

"On your knees, hands behind your back," Kate orders Coonan, signaling the other cop to cuff him. "We're all going to have a chat, a very long chat."

"I want a lawyer," Coonan demands.

"I get one first," Lockwood claims.

Castle regards them triumphantly. "I'm sure there are enough members of the legal profession to accommodate both of you, although you might do better with a magician. You'll need one to make the evidence against you disappear."

Kate's phone interrupts, chiming the arrival of an email. After quickly scanning the message, she holds it up for Castle to see.

"Our expert concludes that the evidence you submitted was written by two individuals," he reads silently. "I'm willing to bet they're both in this room," he adds out loud.

* * *

Castle turns to Kate as the metal mesh door of a holding cell clunks shut behind their as yet unidentified murderous guest. They walk back to her desk together. "How long until our needle man gets his lawyer in here and we can find out who the scumbag is?" Castle wonders. "My money is on the mysterious Rathborne, but that still wouldn't tell us much."

"No, it wouldn't," Kate agrees. "We aren't allowed to listen in on discussions with counsel, so we'll just have to take this guy's word that his lawyer is on the way. It could be minutes or hours, but I'm not going anywhere until he gets here. You should go home, though. I think you got even less sleep than I did."

"I'm not about to doze off now," Castle declares, "but I can have breakfast brought in. There's a new cronut delivery service."

"God, I love cronuts."

"That makes two of us, and probably a lot more pastry fans if you count the horde of locusts masquerading as detectives in the bullpen. I can set up a spread in the breakroom. We could even enjoy our morning snack in front of our prisoner. I'm sure there's more standard fare he could request if he's hungry."

A smile forces its way to Kate's lips. "His lawyer might claim police brutality or cruel and usual punishment. And I wouldn't have much appetite in front of him anyway." Her smile fades. "Castle, there's a good chance that he's the one that stabbed my mother."

Rick wraps his arms around her, softly touching his lips to her hair. "I know."

* * *

In his chair next to Kate's desk, Castle scrolls through his email, Twitter timeline, and the feed from six different news sources. He can't concentrate on anything. A fingerprint match to a military database identified the man who tried to kill Lockwood as Richard "Dick" Coonan. He's a dick, all right, but he doesn't have a record, at least not one Kate could get her hands on. The justification for Coonan's separation from the military was redacted as classified. The question of whether Coonan is the mysterious Rathborne is still wide-open, but Castle can feel the answer in his gut. He has a feeling Kate can too. She only managed to get down half a cronut. That was hours ago, and she hasn't touched anything except a bottle of water since. She wasn't even tempted by his suggestion of macaroni and cheese from the comfort food truck.

Coonan's lawyer arrived within 90 minutes of Coonan's call, and after hours of attorney-client consultation, assistant district attorney, Toni Gonzalez, entered negotiations with the pair. The ADA also spent some time on the phone with her office. Something should be happening soon, any minute. It has to.

Attorney Taylor Addison signals from the door of Interrogation. "My client is ready to make a statement, but he'll talk only to Detective Beckett and Ms. Gonzalez."

"Damn!" Rick mutters as he spies Kate's hands fisting. He wanted to be there for her. He'll be as close as he can be on the other side of the glass, but it won't be close enough. Still, the mighty Kate Beckett has been facing down monsters for years. She'll make it through this. She can make it through anything, and he'll beside her as soon as he can.

Kate drops into a chair next to Toni Gonzalez. "I'm here, Coonan, start talking."

Addison holds up a cautioning hand. "First, I'll reiterate the conditions. My client will be pleading guilty to one charge and one charge only — the attempted murder of the individual known to you as Hal Lockwood. In exchange, he will be revealing everything he knows about the aforementioned Lockwood and the individual known as The Dragon."

"What about the homicide of Johanna Beckett?" Kate demands.

"My client will discuss that event in connection with The Dragon," Addison concedes, "but any charges against him related to that or any other deaths are off the table."

Kate turns to Toni. "You agreed to that?"

Toni nods grimly. "My boss did."

Kate stares straight at Coonan's deceptively mild blue eyes. "Did the Dragon order the death of Johanna Beckett and everyone else listed in the ledger that was in the possession of the murderer we know as Hal Lockwood?"

"Yes, he did," Coonan replies, unblinking.

"And who is the Dragon?" Kate presses.

Coonan settles back in his chair as Addison replies in his stead. "My client will reveal that when and only when we have the D.A.'s signature on a deal guaranteeing him complete protection."

Kate's feet weigh a hundred pounds as they drag into observation where Castle is waiting. She leans into Rick's chest, tears spotting his shirt. He holds her, gently rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me, Coonan would be in the deepest darkest hole I could find, and I'd hand you the shovel to bury him. But Kate, psychopath that he is, Coonan is still a pawn of a greater evil. The Dragon is responsible for your mother's murder, Diane Cavanaugh's, and so many others. He's going to go to prison for them. There is a measure of poetic justice in using Coonan to take him down."

"I know there is, Rick. That's the only thing that's keeping me from screaming my lungs out."

"You shouldn't be alone tonight. Look," Castle proposes, "I'll make sure that Mother will be home with Alexis, and I'll stay with you at your place — if you let me."

Kate presses more deeply into his body. "I don't think I could make it through the night without you."


	37. Chapter 37

Poison Pen

Chapter 37

"It's the end of shift, Kate. Ready to leave?" Castle asks as detectives start filing out of the bullpen.

Kate shrugs wearily. "Might as well. I'm not accomplishing anything here."

"We could go by Remy's and pick up some burgers," Castle suggests.

Kate shakes her head. "I just want to go home."

Castle picks up her light jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. "Then let's go."

* * *

It was a hell of an 18 hrs for trauma chief, Dr. Lurleen Cantwell. She had to cope with the influx of patients from the accident, an idiot who tried to shoot his way through an N.Y.P.D. strike force and being short-staffed. As far as she heard, Nurse Geiger never did show up. There was some rumor floating through the halls about a killer trying to use Geiger's I.D., but Lurleen was much too busy to worry about it.

Putting down the duffel bag holding dirty clothes from her locker, she unlocks the trunk of her car. She's seen more than her share of dead bodies, but never one this way. Even distorted in death, his face looks familiar. It's Nurse Geiger.

* * *

With her head pillowed in Rick's lap, Kate is trying desperately to think good thoughts. She knows who killed her mother, and soon that bastard, Coonan will give up the man who paid him to do it. Were she and Castle right about Bracken? She'll know soon, but she'll also know that Coonan will be getting away with countless murders. And what about Lockwood? Evidence from one co-conspirator in a crime isn't enough, especially against someone as highly placed as they suspect the Dragon is. Will Lockwood get a sweetheart deal too? The thought of it sends chills through her body.

Feeling Kate shiver, Castle grabs an afghan draped over the top of the couch and tucks it around her. "Better?"

Kate fingers the lovingly crocheted throw. "My grandmother made this. My parents both had to be in court during a school break when I was in second grade, and Nonna was watching me. She was working on it while we watched soaps together." Kate points to a red and black granny square. "She made this one during "One Life to Live."

"The queen of daytime dramas. I used to have a thing for Dorian," Castle confesses.

"When I was a little older, I thought Joey was kind of cute," Kate confides. "But on the soaps, even the villains had some redeeming value. They loved and protected someone or something, even if they wreaked havoc doing it. Sociopaths like Coonan and Lockwood don't even act human."

"Or they act too human," Castle opines. "When was the last time you saw an animal kill for money? They have to be hungry or hurt or at least very pissed off. Someone like Coonan is like a gun or a bomb, no conscience, just deadly power."

Kate sits up, letting the colorful blanket slide down to cover just her legs. "There has to be some loophole in the D.A.'s deal, some way to get a second bite at the apple with Coonan and still go after the Dragon, whether it's Bracken or someone else." The opening notes of Londonderry Air pipe from Kate's pocket. She digs for her phone. "That's Ryan."

"Beckett, look, I hate to bother you, but I think you'll want to hear this. The nurse, Justin Geiger, whose ID Coonan was using, just turned up — dead. The body's in the staff parking lot at Bellevue."

The afghan slips to the floor as Kate springs to her feet. "On my way."

"Kate, are you sure you want to be in on this one?" Castle wonders as Kate hurriedly tugs on her boots.

"Castle, I've never been surer. The D.A. didn't know about Justin Geiger. Coonan sure as hell never mentioned killing anyone else. That poor nurse's death was never part of their agreement. If we can nail Coonan for it on top of Lockwood's attempted murder, Coonan will get life."

"Then, let's get your beautiful butt to Bellevue."

On the way to the door, Kate grabs a handful of flesh. "Yours isn't bad either, Castle."

* * *

Perlmutter is withdrawing a probe from Geiger's liver as Kate and Rick arrive at Dr. Cantwell's car. "The outdoor temperature has vacillated a lot in the past 24 hours, and being stuffed in a trunk is a confounding factor, but I'd put the time of death at very early this morning. I may be able to be more precise when I get him to the lab."

"That's fine, Perlmutter," Kate assures him. "The timeline fits with Coonan killing Geiger, stealing his I.D. and using it to get into Lockwood's room. What was the cause of death?"

"From what I can tell so far, it looks like his carotid was compressed and his trachea crushed. His demise would have been relatively swift and silent."

"Which also fits," Castle notes. "Coonan could have learned a technique like that in the military."

"Would that kind of attack transfer DNA from the killer to the victim?" Kate inquires.

"It's possible," Perlmutter considers, "and the act of stuffing the body in a trunk would have opened up more opportunities for the killer to leave shed cells, hair, or trace on Nurse Geiger. As always, I will do a complete search and examination for any possible evidence."

"Please, let me know as soon as you find any possible link to Coonan," Kate requests.

"That is my job, Detective Beckett. Unlike some people here," Perlmutter sniffs, "I'm actually qualified to pursue an investigation."

"I love you too, Perlmutter," Castle teases.

"So," Castle asks Kate, "what now?"

"I need to talk to the owner of the car, but I don't think that will take long. And I wonder if the cafeteria is open. I'm starved."

Castle grins as he trails a rapidly striding Kate to the hospital entrance. Detective Beckett is back!

* * *

The Senate offices are rarely completely quiet. Even when the senators are gone, staffers work well into the night, preparing for committee proceedings and researching constituents' concerns.

One group of staffers managed to take off at a reasonable hour when their boss suddenly decided to depart for his own state. It wasn't unusual for him to leave D.C. He's often absent pursuing both political and personal business. Usually, however, they prepare briefings for him to take with him and schedule meetings to fit his itinerary. This time, he announced he was leaving after receiving a call on his private phone from a party unknown. He projected no time of return and took no work-related materials with him. He just asked for a car to a nearby small airfield.

* * *

The senator paces the hand-scraped wooden flooring of his study. Things have turned to sh*t. Not only didn't Coonan take out Lockwood, he got himself caught. As murderers, they won't be considered the most reliable witnesses, but with enough diligent police work to back it up, their testimony could be deadly. At this point, trying to take them out would only raise more questions. It's time to pull the plug on his New York operations — fast. Many of his resources are offshore. He'll have to move whatever else he can, before making his getaway. In the meantime, the police will waste their time sniffing after Bracken. The junior senator has been the frontman for years. For years, Coonan thought Bracken was in charge. Lockwood still does. That discrepancy will give Senior Senator Elliott Springer a little breathing room. But right now, he needs some major stress relief. He and Madam Charlaine have been business associates from the beginning. She'll get him exactly what his body craves.


	38. Chapter 38

Poison Pen

Chapter 38

"You want another one?" Castle asks as Kate eagerly downs the last bite of her burger.

"No," Kate responds, eying Castle's plate, "but are you going to finish the rest of your fries?"

Castle sweeps his hand over the remains of his own late hospital cafeteria dinner. "Have at them."

Kate dumps a pool of ketchup on her plate and begins dipping only slightly soggy potato wedges into the condiment. "Whether Perlmutter finds any evidence on the body or not, we have to connect Coonan to Geiger's murder."

"Seems like Coonan using Geiger's I.D. to get to Lockwood would be a good start," Castle observes.

Kate shakes her head. "He could always claim he found it, and Addison could make the case that it fell off when the killer was stuffing Geiger's body into Dr. Cantwell's trunk. There's video all over this hospital and probably in the parking lot too. As experienced a killer as Coonan is, he would have kept his face turned away from the camera, but we caught him just as he would have looked. His hair would have been the same. Tech can even look for the shape of his ears. And he must have dumped his clothes somewhere when he changed into scrubs. We find those and match them to the before and after of Coonan coming into the hospital and changing, we should be able to trace his route. And we'll interview anyone who might have seen him. We just have to put together a clear narrative that will convince a jury — and the D.A. The minute we get what we want from Coonan, he can charge him with Geiger's homicide."

"You've already talked to Dr. Cantwell. Most of the others you'd want to interview here, won't be around until morning."

"And there will be some complicated paperwork to get hospital security video too," Kate figures. "The privacy laws are pretty stiff. Maybe we can grab a few hours of sleep and start early."

"You still want me with you, for what's left of tonight, Kate? You seemed to have poked a pretty big hole in the black cloud that was hanging over you."

"Then maybe we can share the moonlight together."

Castle's fingertip swipes a saucy droplet from the corner of Kate's mouth. "There's no moon tonight, but I very much appreciate the sentiment."

* * *

Kate wakes up in the dark as Rick's arms loosen around her. "What time is it?"

"Five. If you're all right, I thought I'd go back to the loft. I need fresh clothes, and I want to get some writing in and find out what Alexis has been up to before I send her off to school."

"I'm fine, Castle, but I thought you submitted the chapters you were working on."

"I did, but I have another Nikki Heat project in mind. I'm thinking I'll work on it in parallel with the book I'm already well into, as I see how events unfold. It will connect some things."

Kate wraps her arms around his neck for a kiss. "See you at the precinct later?"

"Unless you want me to meet you at the hospital."

"I'll let you know."

* * *

Castle lets the needle spray of his shower massage the kinks out of his muscles. He put in an hour in front of his laptop, pretty much without moving, before taking the time to lay out a shirt and jeans and clean up. It was worth it. Everything that's happened since he met Kate is beginning to come together. Getting all the pieces to mesh will still take a lot of work, not to mention a denouement of their present cases, but he has the outline firmly in his brain, and much of it is now on his computer as well.

The morning should time out about right. He can start breakfast when he's dressed and have a good chunk of time for his daughter. It's going to be another long day, but if things work out the way Kate wants them to, it should be a good one.

* * *

Kate is disappointed but not surprised by the red tape to get video from inside the hospital. The parking lot, however, wasn't a problem. With the dim light in which images were captured and the physical similarities between Coonan and Justin Geiger, it's not easy for her to figure out which one she's seeing. She looks up gratefully at the sound of Castle's footsteps approaching Tech. "I'm glad you're here. I can use another set of eyes, and I sent the boys off to canvass hospital employees for anyone who might have seen Coonan."

"I'm happy that you called. After Alexis left for school, Mother Shanghaied me into running lines with her. She's trying out for a stage version of 'Dead Zone,' and she didn't think much of my Christopher Walken."

"I liked the Anthony Michael Hall version from the T.V. show better anyway," Kate offers. "But neither one is as creepy as Coonan."

Castle pulls up a high stool next to Kate's in front of the big screen. "Can't disagree with you there. What are we watching?"

"The video from one of the cameras focused on the staff parking lot. Is that Geiger?"

"Must be. I think he's got a bit of a limp. Coonan doesn't have one."

"You're right," Kate agrees. "I got a summary of Geiger's personnel file. He served in the army before coming to work at Bellevue and was discharged after being wounded. No details, but he might have picked up a limp. That will help us tell him and Coonan apart."

"Do you see that at the edge of the frame?" Castle asks.

"Yeah, like a foot or something. I'm going to run it forward. I can only see his back, but that must be Coonan approaching Geiger. They're moving out of range of the camera, but I can get a screen capture of Coonan's clothes. If we find them, we can try for a DNA match to Geiger. There's a better chance of that than of Perlmutter finding one to Coonan on Geiger's body. Either way, I'll take whatever we get."

"If I were Coonan and I wanted to get rid of clothes — or anything — at a hospital, I'd throw them in with bio-hazard waste. That way, they'd be hauled off and probably incinerated. No muss, no fuss, no DNA."

"You're right, Castle. But he might have wanted to retrieve them."

"You have a point," Castle considers. "Hard to tell on the video, but from the way the shoulders fit, that jacket looks custom made. So if you're going to stow clothes where you can put them on again later, where do you put them?"

"Geiger's locker!" they exclaim in unison.

Kate jumps down from her stool. "Let's get back to Bellevue."

* * *

Elliott Springer thumbs an end to call on his cellphone. His source didn't have much information. Kate Beckett and her writer sidekick were at the scene of the homicide of a nurse. The murder took place at Bellevue, but Springer's tipster didn't know if it had any connection to Coonan and Lockwood or not. In any case, there's no further information on either of those two, and no warrants or BOLOS have gone out for Bracken or Elliott. That may be a good sign. Springer's taken care of his banking in the Caribbean and Switzerland. Nothing's gone through in Cypress yet, but it should very soon. The banking day is nearly over in that time zone. He's almost finished lining up under-the-radar transportation to his retreat in Montenegro. He can live well there with no worries about extradition to the U.S., and the Balkans offer many opportunities. Being a senator has been a pain in the ass. Maybe he should have arranged his escape sooner, but he could use more time with Charlaine's stable before he has to enlist a new provider for his unique pleasures.


	39. Chapter 39

Poison Pen

Chapter 39

Kate holds up a small key. "This was in Coonan's effects, in the pocket of his scrubs." After pulling on a pair of gloves, she inserts her find into the locker that security identified as belonging to Justin Geiger, and opens it easily. A custom-made jacket, along with a pair of extra-long slacks, is folded and neatly lying inside. "Bingo!" After snapping a picture of the clothes in place, Kate transfers them to an evidence bag and rapidly fills out the chain of custody information. "I want to run these over to CSU for a priority analysis. They should have Geiger's DNA sample from Perlmutter, for comparison."

"How about talking to Lockwood?"

"This takes priority, but we tripled the guard on him. He's not going anywhere, and no one is getting to him. But," she continues, imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger's accent, "we'll be back."

Kates and Castle's phones echo each other, dinging texts. Castle scans his first. "There's a hearing for Badcock today. Some expert is going to present his credentials and testify as to whether Badcock's competent to stand trial."

Kate nods, skimming her own message. "Right, but if the judge rules that he is, his lawyer will still go for the insanity defense."

"That makes no sense," Castle insists.

Kate sighs, shaking her head. "A lot of things in the legal system don't make sense, but we have to live with them. The hearing isn't scheduled until later. Are you going?"

"I can't not go, Kate. I need to see Badcock put away one way or another."

"OK, we'll get as much done on the case as we have time for, and if I can, I'll be in court with you."

Rick gently brushes her temple with his lips. "I appreciate it, Kate."

"Castle, you've been there for me every step of the way; besides, Badcock is my case too. Let's get Coonan's clothes to the lab and then we'll come back and see if we can get anything out of Lockwood."

* * *

Springer has always responded to Bill Bracken's calls on his private line before, but for some reason, he's gone silent. Bracken hasn't been able to reach Lockwood either, and he saw a report of the police taking down a shooter at a corporate suite. The situation stinks, but Bill's not sure what to do about it. He's always followed Springer's orders and become rich and influential by doing so. Just the seat on the Intelligence Committee that Springer engineered for him has allowed Bill to monetize interesting tidbits of information from around the world. His membership on the Judiciary Committee has enabled him to maintain many useful contacts. And Coonan and Lockwood have removed all kinds of obstacles over the years, for both Bill and Elliott.

All in all, the longstanding association between the senior and junior senators from New York has worked out beautifully, which makes Bill's inability to contact his mentor all the more disturbing. There is one person who almost always knows where Springer is, to keep her ladies ready to respond to his call. Bill dials the number for Charlaine and puts in his personal code.

* * *

Lockwood stares icily at Kate. "I already asked for a lawyer, Detective. Not that I would have been stupid enough to talk to you anyway, but he advised me not to say anything."

"It seems to me like you just gave out with a couple of pretty long sentences," Castle observes.

Kate moves close to Lockwood's bed, looming over him. "You don't have to talk, Mr. Lockwood. You opened fire on police officers. That fact is not in dispute. We also have considerable evidence implicating you in the murder of Dominic Farrell, Luther Frontiere, and a great many others. Your ex-pal Coonan has been quite forthcoming. Your only prayer of doing anything for yourself is to tell us something we don't know or back up Coonan's charges against a third party."

Lockwood's eyes widen. "Coonan flipped on…?" Lockwood presses his lips shut before getting out anything except a "B."

"We know all about Bracken," Kate bluffs.

"You don't have anything," Lockwood taunts. "If you did, you wouldn't bother trying to pull a number on me. You have no idea what you're up against, Detective, but I do. Coonan is only the tip of the iceberg. If I tell you anything, we'll both have a lot more to worry about than you can imagine."

"You believe him?" Castle asks as he and Kate walk down the hall from Lockwood's room.

"I believe that he believes what he said," Kate responds. "And it tracks with Coonan demanding protection. But what Lockwood doesn't realize is that he gave away his relationship with Coonan. If they had been strangers, Lockwood wouldn't know that Coonan was anyone except a guy who tried to shoot air into his I.V. line. Clearly, they worked together, and Lockwood knows that their boss sent Coonan after him. Sooner or later, if he thinks he has any chance of saving his ass, he'll flip. But right now, at least we have a 'B.' We're following the right trail."

Castle checks his watch. "But if we're going to make it to court, we need to branch off now."

"We'll get there. If we hit too much traffic, I'll use the gumball."

"Can I work the siren?" Castle asks.

Kate rolls her eyes. "Don't get carried away."

* * *

"What can I do for you, Billy?" Charlaine purrs. "I have some new arrivals at the K Street house. I think you'll enjoy their skills."

"I'll check them out, Charlaine," Bracken promises, but I was looking for Elliott. He's not answering his phone, and I was wondering if you know if he's – engaged."

"He has been employing the on-call services of our New York establishment, but there's not much I can tell you, Billy. The girls said he seemed to have something on his mind, but he didn't talk about what was distracting him. They did say that whatever it was didn't affect his performance."

Bill can almost see the madam smirking into the phone. "Thanks, Charlaine. I'll drop by K Street as soon as I have a spare minute." As he hangs up, Bill mentally reviews what Charlaine said. It was no surprise. Elliott has had exotic appetites ever since Bill's known him, but it's never impacted their business, on or off the Senate floor. At least he knows Elliott's in New York. That's more than he knew before.

* * *

Badcock seems calm as he's led into the courtroom. Many lawyers have their clients wear suits to look more respectable, but Badcock is in his prison garb and sports a bushy beard, lending wildness to his appearance.

After the preliminaries, the clerk swears in Manley Welborn M.D., Ph.D., and Badcock's lawyer proceeds with the mandatory queries establishing Wellborn's qualifications before questioning the shrink about his examination of Badcock.

"After administering a number of standard tests, I believed that I could make the most thorough evaluation of Mr. Badcock by letting him freely express himself," Welborn explains. "Mr. Badcock wrote what he regards as his manifesto. After carefully analyzing his statements, I concluded that he is narcissistic and obsessed. He evaluates everyone and everything through his own standards for the written word. He is, however, capable of performing everyday activities. He knows where he is and understands what's going on around him."

"In your opinion, Dr. Welborn," the judge interjects, "is Mr. Badcock competent to stand trial?"

"He is," Wellborn confirms.

Kate interlocks her fingers with Castle's, whispering in his ear. "At least he'll have to face a jury."

As he squeezes Kate's hand, the description of the proceedings that he'll commit to the page is already running through Rick's mind.

A/N Guest, there are ways to get into a locked car besides breaking a window. Electronic locks can be hacked, and there are many devices to do so. Thieves (and cops) use a tool called a slim jim to get into some cars. Castle featured another method in "Number One Fan." Remember the blood pressure cuff? Also, the lock to a trunk could be picked, without getting into the car. Someone like Coonan might find that relatively simple.


	40. Chapter 40

Poison Pen

Chapter 40

Bill's shuttle just makes it to the tarmac in J.F.K. before chaos hits the airport. A newly discovered flaw that leaves the navigation systems of many aircraft open to terrorist hacking has grounded most commercial international flights and many domestic ones as well. To complicate matters further, the collision of two weather systems is creating thick fog. It takes four hours for Bill to make it to the apartment he maintains in Manhattan, and he has to pay a hefty premium to hire the limo that got him there. There's no way he's going to be able to get to Elliott in this mess, but it's unlikely that Springer will be leaving the city, either.

* * *

"It's like something out of an over-staged version of Sherlock Holmes out there," Martha declares. "Can you believe that Broadway is considering going dark? That never happens. During a district power failure, the crew used generators to power floodlights, and performers went on with the show on the street. Now, the only way to get to the theater is by subway, if anyone can find the stations in this mess."

"Kate said that The N.Y.P.D. had to ask the city to close the streets to everything except emergency vehicles," Castle explains. "She was barely able to drop me off here. There were more accidents than they could handle, along with the panic that terrorists are going to blow up the city, and all the other emergencies. She's on duty, along with every other cop in the city until the weather straightens out. Even then, there will still be trepidation in the populace until the feds offer reassurances that travel can return to normal. As soon as they have the phone bank set up, I'll be working as a civilian volunteer answering calls at the precinct. I'll take one of the heavy-duty lanterns I use when Alexis and I go camping and walk there."

Martha puts her hand on her son's shoulder. "You're a good man, Richard."

"Just doing my part, Mother. With Kate's and my investigation on hold, it's the best I can do. At least the labs are up and running, so our evidence should be waiting for us when we get back on the trail. Right now, Alexis and I are going to put together a pan of the special Castle lasagna and a batch of brownies. If you're going to hunker down, you might as well enjoy it."

Martha pours herself a goblet of red wine. "I can enjoy more than lasagna."

* * *

Checking out the window for the 10th time in 20 minutes, Elliott stares at the same landbound gray cloud. His plans are going to hell. He should be on a plane to Istanbul, where he'd change flights for Podgorica. Instead, he's stuck in New York with the clock ticking.

Charlaine let him know that Bracken was trying to find him. The man is like a dog that scratches on the bedroom door whining to go out just when you're in the middle of… Screw it! Soon, Bracken won't matter. That's one tie Elliott will happily cut. If Lockwood talks, all the heat will fall on Bill. Anything Coonan spills will be a competing story. By the time the cops and the D.A. figure out the truth, Elliott will be long gone. As soon as this insane fog lifts, he can line up a private jet. With the flight schedule disrupted the way it is, he'll have lots of competition, but he's willing to do whatever it takes.

* * *

Rick is startled to feel arms wrap around his neck until he sniffs the familiar scent of cherry shampoo. "Kate, I figured you'd be up to your beautiful ears combating threats to the city — real and imagined. I've had a lot of calls about both."

"We've been swamped," Kate admits, "but I had to tell you this. C.S.U. reached out with the D.N.A. results from Coonan's clothes. Geiger's D.N.A. was all over them, and not just the traces they'd pick up from being in Geiger's locker. They analyzed saliva that Perlmutter found on the back of Geiger's neck, too. Apparently, Coonan drooled a little when he made the kill. We have him. The D.A. can get Coonan to flip on Bracken and then charge him with Geiger's murder."

"I hope so, Kate."

"Oh, it gets better than that, Castle. According to the schedule, put out by Bracken's office, he made it to New York just before everything closed down. They're making a big deal of him being here with his constituents in their time of need — as if he's actually doing anything decent. But the minute the hammer falls, we can pick him up. I'd put a watch on him if we didn't need every unit, but he's not going anywhere."

"When do you think you'll be getting a break?" Castle asks.

"I'll have 45 minutes for dinner at six."

Castle consults the time display on his computer. "That's about an hour from now. With the vehicle ban, we can't order in, but with any luck that diner three blocks from here is open. They should be doing a land-office business. If their menu's online, we can order ahead. Any particular cravings?"

"I'm dying for a piece of pie if they have any," Kate admits. "I had their banana cream once, and it was incredible, but I'll settle for anything with a crust and filling."

"You don't usually leave things that wide-open," Castle notes. "Burger? Chicken?"

Kate flutters her eyelashes. "Surprise me."

"Unfortunately, I don't think that the diner's menu will have too many surprises, but," Rick wiggles his eyebrows, "you and I always manage to come up with something new and fascinating together." He sighs. "Only 45 minutes."

"And that's stretching it," Kate responds regretfully, "but when this is over, we can make up the time."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Castle declares.

* * *

With the help of Rick's lantern and Kate's Mag-Lite, the couple makes their way along the sidewalk. "You know," Castle muses, "if I made weather like this a scene for a story, I'd be vilified for using a hack literary device."

Kate grimaces. "Sounds like an accusation from Badcock."

"Ugh, let's not make the evening any gloomier by talking about him. But really," Castle insists, "' It was a dark and stormy night,' is the cliché of clichés. There's even a contest to see who can write the worst book starting with those words. It's an offshoot of a competition to start the worst sentence that way."

"Speaking of books, how is that special project of yours coming along," Kate inquires. Any inspirations?"

Castle wrinkles his nose. "Recent unfortunate happenings will contribute to a chapter or two, but I still have a long way to go."

"Sounds like you'll be burning the candle at both ends even more. When is Black Pawn expecting it?"

"Candle burning isn't a problem. They aren't expecting it," Castle confides. "I haven't told them I'm writing it. So far, you're the only one who knows."

Green sparks in Kate's eyes penetrate the fog. "I guess I should be honored. Have you ever held out on them like that before?"

"A couple of times when I came up with some truly embarrassing plots for Derrick Storm, but nothing like my attempt at this opus. I want to do it without some editor in my ear."

Kate leans into his arm, nibbling on his lobe. "I thought your ears enjoy a little attention."

"Only when it comes from you." Rick pulls Kate against his body. "Maybe we can eat fast."

Kate's fingertip traces Rick's lips. "I have a better idea. Let's get the food to go."


	41. Chapter 41

Poison Pen

Chapter 41

The burn-off of the fog is almost as much of a shock to the denizens of the Big Apple as was its arrival. For many, it had been a welcome respite from work and the stress of fighting traffic. Now it's back to the old grind.

Eager to find Elliott, Bracken fidgets in the back of a cab. Desperate to get in as many fares as he can, the driver is maintaining a pace that pushes the limits of safety, but Bill is grateful. Springer's office still doesn't have a schedule for him, and Bill wants to catch him before he takes off again.

The taxi pulls up in front of the relatively modest home that Springer maintains as a cover for the more opulent properties he owns. As the place most reachable by Charlaine's workforce, it's Elliott's most likely location. Bill stuffs bills in the slot for the cabbie and bounds out of the vehicle without waiting for change. He's overtipping, but at that moment, he'll live with it.

Bracken rings the bell three times before the door is opened by one of Charlaine's more creative employees. "Bill, I didn't know we were having a threesome."

"We're not, Gigi," Bracken explains. "I need some time with Elliott. Take five, or whatever you girls call it."

Gigi shrugs. "Fine. I'll grab a shower."

Springer pulls a sheet over his body as Bracken bursts into his bedroom. "Elliot, what the hell is going on? You take off without telling your office — or me — where you're going. I can't reach Coonan or Lockwood, and I think Lockwood might have survived a shootout with the cops. Then a transportation catastrophe hits, and you're not even available for comment, just having your fun with Charlaine's honeys. Are you trying to commit political suicide and drag me down with you?"

Elliott shoves a pillow behind his back. "You can't kill what's already dead, Bill. The cops have Lockwood, and word is he's going to talk. He'll try to save his ass by giving them you. And they have Coonan too. He can pull me into it and probably will. We're done, both of us. I'm getting out as soon as I can get in the air. If you're smart, you'll disappear too."

"I'm not going anywhere," Bracken proclaims. "I worked hard building up the network in this city, harder than you. And who the hell is going to believe a hitman accusing a senator famous for serving his city and his country? I'll claim that it's a hoax and a scam cooked up by a corrupt police department and D.A. to cover their own failings. The public will believe me. They always do."

"And what are you going to say about me, Bill?" Springer asks.

"That I don't know about anything except the work we did together in the Senate, but we accomplished great things for our constituents. I won't give you up, Elliott."

Springer can hear the shower running and music playing in an adjoining bathroom. Any sounds from the bedroom will be muffled. Obscured by the tent of the bedding over his body, Springer's hand inches toward a drawer in his bedside table until his fingers curl around the grip of his pistol. Improvising a silencer to further cover a gunshot, Elliott fires at Bracken through the pillow. Bracken is dead before he hits the floor. Grabbing the sheet from the bed, Springer rolls Bracken in it and shoves him underneath.

Scrubbing the moisture from her head with a towel, Gigi emerges from the bathroom. Where's Bill? I thought he might change his mind and have a party."

"He's gone. He reminded me of some business I need to take care of. You can go too. You'll get your bonus."

Gigi presses her lips to Springer's in as convincing a display of passion as she can muster. "Thanks, Elliott. You're always so good to us."

* * *

Charlaine's surprised to see a call come in from Gigi. The girl always gives her a report so they can update the kink profiles on the johns, but she wasn't due to finish for hours. Elliott run out of steam?" the madam asks.

"Not that I noticed, but something happened. Bracken came to see Elliott. I grabbed a shower, but I could have sworn I heard a gun go off. When I came out of the bathroom, Bill was gone."

"He probably just left. Maybe you heard a backfire," Charlaine suggests.

"Backfires don't leave little red drops on the floor," Gigi insists. "But look, Charlaine, you could call Bill and make sure he's OK. I mean, we don't want to lose a customer, right?"

"No, we don't," Charlaine agrees. "I'll take care of it."

* * *

After trying three times to reach Bill Bracken on his private number, Charlaine is concerned. She's more than concerned, she's worried. She can't have her customers shooting each other. Damn! For all she knows, Springer could go after Gigi or another one of her girls. She's managed to stay in business by being a useful confidential informant about some less than honest clients who became abusive or dangerous. It's time to give McKenzie a call. He can pass her information on and keep her out of it."

"What's wrong?" Castle asks as the usually shallow lines on Kate's face deepen.

"I got a text from McKenzie in Vice. He got a tip from his C.I. His source thinks that Bracken was murdered."

"By whom?" Castle wonders.

"The senior senator from New York, Elliott Springer."

"You buying it?"

"I don't know, Castle. But I have to check it out."

* * *

Kate's rap on the door vibrates through Springer's apartment just as he's making the last check that he's packed everything he needs to be comfortable in Montenegro. He has full sized-bottles of everything he likes, but that doesn't matter. You don't go through T.S.A. when you take a private plane. Any other problems can be remedied by smearing a generous amount of grease on outstretched palms.

Disgruntled constituents have tracked Springer to this residence before. He's hoping that if he ignores the knock and the insistent ringing of the doorbell, whoever it is will go away. The feminine voice penetrating the dense wood to announce the presence of the N.Y.P.D. dashes that hope. He'll have to talk to them as briefly as possible.

Springer might have taken the woman standing on his stoop for one of Charlaine's girls if she were wearing more makeup and fewer clothes. She's beautiful enough to fluff any man into a passion, but the badge she's holding up makes it clear that she has other intentions. "Senator Springer, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I need to ask you a few questions."

"Damn! Of course, he knows about Beckett and her writer shadow, but the picture of her he formed in his mind didn't approach the reality. Still, if she had something solid, she wouldn't have bothered to knock. All he needs to do is talk his way past her this one time, and he'll be out of reach forever. "Detective Beckett, I'm sorry. I'm about to leave for a fact-finding mission overseas. I'll be meeting with several foreign dignitaries, and I have to keep to the schedule."

"This won't take long, Senator," Kate promises. "Can we come in?"

"I'd prefer to talk out here," Springer demurs. "As I said, I don't have much time."

Kate pulls a document from inside her jacket. "Senator, I prefer to ask politely, but I have a warrant to search your dwelling."

"I need to see that," Springer demands.

"Of course, that's your right," Kate agrees, handing over the paperwork.

Springer sways dizzily as he reads, "the presence of blood." Sh*t. Bracken is still under the bed.


	42. Chapter 42

Poison Pen

Chapter 42

Kate stands numbly, looking down as Lanie examines Bracken's body. Rick is as close behind her as he can get without the public displays of cuddling that she resists on the job, hoping his proximity sends some comfort. Are you all right, Kate?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. None of this makes sense, Castle. In my mind, Bracken was the evil overlord, pulling strings and controlling everything, and now Springer just shoots him. Why? How?"

"I don't know, Kate. I'd pegged Bracken as behind everything too, but there are at least two people who can fit some of the puzzle pieces together."

"Right. Lockwood and Coonan," Kate agrees. "Bellevue discharged Lockwood. He's in the medical facility at the prison. Coonan is in the high-security wing. We can talk to both of them as soon as I tie things up here."

"There's not that much to tie up right now, Kate. Springer screamed for his lawyer before the boys took him in. Lanie has her work to do. Then CSU will go over the place. If any answers to your questions are here, we can come back and look for them when things have settled down. You may have a better idea of what we're looking for when we return."

"You could be right. All right, Castle. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Sprawling in his seat as much as he can while shackled, Lockwood smirks as the detective and her pet writer approach. "You're wasting your time. I'm not telling you anything."

"But I have something to tell you," Kate informs him. "William Bracken is dead."

"Who's William Bracken?" Lockwood asks, his chains rattling with an involuntary shudder.

"Shame on you! You don't even know the name of New York's junior senator." Castle taunts the prisoner. "Or when you were growing up, did you cut civics class to torture small animals?"

"I want to talk to my lawyer again. I'm ready to make a deal."

Castle snorts. "You don't have much left to deal with, Lockwood."

"And about Bracken," Kate adds, "I think you just told us everything we need to know."

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here?" Coonan demands. "The D.A. knows what he has to give me."

"The situation has changed, Coonan. We have Elliott Springer for killing William Bracken. We have more than enough to convict him and Lockwood," Kate explains. "We also have proof that you killed Justin Geiger."

"You have _bupkis _to trade, Coonan," Castle interjects.

"Almost _bupkis_," Kate corrects. "You have one tiny chance to help yourself. We are going to unravel the relationship between you, Lockwood, Bracken, and Elliott Springer. You can count on it. But it will take time and resources, and frankly, the city has better ways to spend its money. So, you give us what you know, every detail and maybe you won't end up in quite as dark a hole. Personally, I believe that all of you belong in the ninth ring of hell, but that's not on the books in New York State. So think about it, Coonan, but don't think too long. The more we uncover, the less use anyone will have for you."

Sweat darkens the orange fabric of Coonan's jumpsuit. "I need to talk to my lawyer."

"You better talk fast," Kate advises.

* * *

Castle shakes his head incredulously as he and Kate leave the courtroom. "I can't believe that Springer asked for bail. We have him cold for one murder, and with what Coonan spilled, he's implicated in God knows how many more, and he had a plane gassed up and ready to get him out of the country. How much greater a flight risk could a person be?"

"The kind of lawyers he has will throw everything against the wall in case any of it sticks," Kate assumes. "The judge didn't have much patience with their motion, but those guys are paid to try every trick in the book. It may be a long time until Springer gets to trial."

"At least Lockwood and Coonan ended up copping pleas," Castle considers. "So we'll just have two court cases to keep tabs on, Springer and Badcock. Badcock's trial should be coming up first. He doesn't have the money to fund delaying tactics. But in the meantime, I'll finish writing my first Nikki Heat book."

"First? How many are you planning to write?"

"I don't know. Good as you are, and with Bracken dead and Springer under lock and key, New York may run out of murders, forcing me to turn my attention to other pursuits. But I have enough material for at least the next eight years or so, maybe more."

"Sometimes I envy you being able to lose yourself in your writing that way," Kate confesses. "I could use more distraction."

"I can think of something that would be a huge distraction."

"Does it have anything to do with laser tag or Star Wars?"

Castle strokes his chin. "Hmm, thematically, either one of those would be cool, but I doubt that you'd choose to employ them. I'm talking about planning a wedding."

"Is your mother getting married again?"

"Anything's possible, but not that I know of. Kate, I was talking about planning a wedding for us. I'd drop to one knee and pull out a ring, but I figured that independent as you are, you'd want to pick out your own. Kate, will you marry me?"

"What?"

"You didn't understand the question?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes, I understood the question, I just wasn't expecting it."

"I admit that the steps of the courthouse are not the most romantic venue on which to ask. You want me to make a reservation at Your Own Corner and ask again? Hmm, probably a bad choice. We might stumble onto another murder. How about One if by Land, Two if by Sea? It's been a traditional proposal spot since the '70s."

"Castle, I don't need a fancy restaurant. So much has been happening; it just took me a minute to wrap my mind around the idea of getting married. After Coonan murdered my mother, I stopped having dreams of a flower-strewn aisle and a long white veil."

"I get it, Kate. You've been propelled by your thirst for justice. But you got Coonan. You got Lockwood. You got Springer. Bracken is in Lucifer's domain. Justice has triumphed – more or less. Isn't it time to make your life about more than catching the bad guys? You can be happy, Kate. You just have to give yourself permission. I promise I'll do my best to help you be happy if you'll let me. And if you need some time to think about it, I'll wait."

"I don't need time to think about it, Castle. You're right. It's time for me to climb out of the rabbit hole." She rises on her toes to cup his face. "Yes, I'll marry you." Kate's cheeks redden at the applause that echoes off the stone building when her lips meet Rick's. "Let's get out of here."

Rick offers his elbow. "Let's head to midtown. I know a jeweler on 43rd Street. He'll make you any kind of ring that you want, rush order."

Kate presses a hand to her abdomen. "Can we stop for a burger first? And fries and a shake. I'm starved."

"Whatever the lady desires. Anything else?" Castle inquires.

"An éclair. I'd really love some creamy filling."

Castle gulps. "Your wish is my command."


	43. Chapter 43

Poison Pen

Chapter 43

"About bloody time!" Martha proclaims. "I knew you two were a perfect match the first time I saw you together. No one has ever sent Richard into a tailspin like that before, at least not since that Lizzy in 10th grade."

"Mother," Rick pleads.

Alexis edges in front of her grandmother to kiss her father on the cheek. "I'm really happy for you, Dad." Her gaze shifts to Kate. "I'm happy for both of you."

Martha grabs Kate's hand and examines the ring. "Richard, I'm surprised you didn't shell out for a bigger rock."

"He wanted to," Kate explains, "but I needed something that wouldn't poke through my glove at a crime scene, and I don't want to have to take it off while I'm working."

"Very pragmatic," Martha judges.

"More like romantic," Rick insists. "Kate's letting the world in on how we feel about each other."

Alexis sighs, gazing up at nothing. "That is romantic."

"So, when's the big day?" Martha inquires.

"Mother, we've only been engaged for a few hours. Sol Greenblatt set the stones in Kate's ring while we waited. Give us a break!" Rick beseeches.

"Fine, but don't wait too long to set a date," Martha warns. "Everything has a waiting list in New York, even — woo hoo!— tickets for my new play."

"Congratulations, Mother," Castle responds, "so, I perceive that now would be a doubly perfect time to open the bottle of Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades Champagne I bought at the auction benefiting the library. Alexis, there's some excellent sparkling cider in the fridge that you can use to join us in a toast to the promises of the future."

Martha hurries toward the kitchen. "I'll get the glasses."

* * *

"What were you expecting to find here, Kate?" Castle asks as Kate searches through the books on a shelf in Springer's Manhattan retreat. "Let me guess; those are all porn."

"Mostly porn," Kate corrects. "A few of the books are about offshore investing. And one of them is a reference on types of rubber."

"Ah, fetish-related research. Sounds like Elliott has interesting tastes, but I doubt that he'll have much chance in prison to indulge them. Didn't your tip about him shooting Bracken come from a Vice C.I.? A working girl, perhaps?"

"Could be, Castle, but a C.I. is a C.I. Mackenzie is protecting the identity of whoever it was. Bracken's dead body, as well as the forensic evidence, speak for themselves. Of course, Springer's lawyers may try to get the warrant disallowed, but New York relies on the Aguilar-Spinelli test, and Mackenzie has been at things long enough to make sure that his affidavit would meet the terms of that. The judge who granted the warrant is a hardass too. She's not a fan of shaky probable cause. But you know, it wouldn't hurt to talk to Mackenzie. He might be able to pass some questions that would give us more insight into Springer on to his C.I."

Castle wiggles his eyebrows. "Ooh, do we get to enter the kinky world of a vice cop?"

"More like the steamy world of a pasta pot. From what I've heard, Mackenzie is hooked on Italian. We should invite him to lunch."

Castle grins. "I know just the place."

* * *

Mackenzie gestures with a piece of Genoa salami from the shared antipasto platter. "Detective Beckett, I'm not about to give up my confidential source. Trust that mouths will only open to provide requested services, is essential in that line of work. Any perception that trust is broken, and we're both out of business."

Kate reaches for a pepperoncino. "I understand that Sergeant, but I was wondering if you could serve as a conduit for my questions. Your source was on the money about Bracken and Springer. Clearly, that involved very personal access to them. I believe that Springer was behind a wide range of illegal activities, including murders, spanning more than a decade. Springer's lawyers are fighting tooth and nail to suppress the evidence of all of his crimes and connections. I need to find as much ammunition for the D.A. as I can. What I want to know is if your source has any information about what Springer might have recorded regarding extralegal activities. We suspect he controls many enterprises off the books. He used Bracken as a frontman for some of them, but I believe Springer's reach extends throughout the city and possibly the country."

Castle picks up the narration. "Even from his cell, Springer has influence, possibly a hell of a lot of it. Kate needs every break she can get to combat his tactics."

And as a cop you know that it's often the littlest detail that breaks a case," Kate adds.

Kate drums her fingers on the snowy tablecloth as Mackenzie savors a stuffed mushroom. "I'll talk to my source," he agrees, "but I want Mr. Castle to tell me how he got a table so fast in this place."

"That," Castle replies, "is a long story. There is this guy, a capo of the Cardano family, that I used as a consultant on Storming the Gates. That was one of my books when Storm was a P.I. before he went to work for the CIA. He was dealing with some pretty sketchy cases. So in exchange for my naming a villain after his mother-in-law, my source brought me here to soak in some atmosphere and eat the best pasta carbonara I've ever had. I traded the chef an in with a custom herb grower I know, for the recipe. I've been welcome here ever since."

Mackenzie swallows. "Castle, are you telling me this place is "family-owned?"

"And a lovely family it is," Castle declares. "The restaurant was started by the chef's grandmother, Lila Del Vecchio, when she got off the boat from Italy with just the clothes on her back and a collection of recipes. Since then, her children and children's children have run the place. The Cardanos love to eat here. Who wouldn't? They also protect it from extortion by the other families. But before the Del Vecchios would hand over a piece of their legacy to the Cardanos or anyone else, they'd burn it to the ground. So enjoy your meal, Sergeant. It is untainted by crime, unlike your C.I. But relationships with the criminal element can occasionally come in handy, can't they?"

Mackenzie wipes his fingers on a linen napkin. "I get your point, Castle. I'm not making any promises, but I'll push for as much information as I can get."

"Excellent!" Castle exclaims, rubbing his hands together. "Now, what would everyone like as an entrée? And wait till you see the dessert tray. You'll believe that it descended from heaven."

* * *

Kate wasn't sure about spending a night with Castle in the loft with Alexis in the house, but the teen couldn't have been more welcoming, claiming that it will be great to have a woman a little closer to her age, around to talk to. Not being up on the latest teen idols, Kate isn't sure what she and Alexis will have to talk about, but she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. Snuggling into Rick's arms as they drift off together feels right. Kate can't recall anything else feeling quite so natural. And she can't imagine anything better than waking up together, free to make love in the morning light. But the tiramisu from Del Vecchio's might run a close second. Well, a second, anyway. And she has a hunch that Mackenzie's informant will come through with just what she needs to start digging up Springer's dirty secrets.


	44. Chapter 44

Poison Pen

Chapter 44

"Good news?" Castle asks, noting the upturn of Kate's lips as she reads a text on her phone.

"I hope so. Mackenzie says that according to his C.I., Springer had an ancient day runner that he kept stowed somewhere in his Manhattan house. That thing might date back to when, well, when people used day runners. It could have numbers, names, places, anything in it."

"We didn't find it when we searched," Castle points out.

"It's supposed to be in a secret hiding place, but the C.I. didn't know where. We weren't tearing up floors or knocking holes in walls."

"If we do that now, wouldn't Springer's legal eagles claim anything we find is the product of an illegal search?" Castle worries.

"Mackenzie is putting together another affidavit now. We'll go strictly by the book and not give them any openings." Kate assures him.

Castle bounces out of his chair. "This could be fun. If we need to open a hidden compartment, can I use the crowbar?"

"Knock yourself out, Babe."

* * *

Castle shuffles over the hardwood floor in Springer's bedroom, tapping his foot every few inches. "This always looks so easy when they find the killer's stash on T.V.," he complains.

"That's because they compress hours or more of searching into the 30 seconds before the commercial. Actual police work has a lot of drudgery; you know that by now, Castle."

"Uh-huh, but most of the time, you pawn the worst of it off on Ryan and Esposito."

"Advantages of seniority. But I don't know if Ryan's feet are even touching the floor these days. He has that new girlfriend, Jenny. Javi swears that Kevin can't go half an hour without talking to her and that what he hears of the conversation is nauseating."

"I don't know about the nauseating part. Espo might just be jealous. But I understand how Ryan feels. If I couldn't work with you, I'd probably be calling just to hear your voice."

"Oh God, if Esposito heard that, he'd be gagging. Maybe we should go to a pub or something with Ryan and Jenny, so we could all be sickening together. Do you throw darts?"

"Only verbal ones. Ooh! Wait! I think I hear something!" Castle gleefully grabs a crowbar from the canvas bag of tools Kate brought in from the trunk of her unit. "Damn!" he hisses, trying to insert the tip of the bar between the boards, "this looks easier — and more fun — on T.V., too. Hold on. I'm getting it. There's a catch or something." Castle tugs a length of wood out of the way. "Kate, I see dead cow."

"Castle, did you put the wrong kind of mushrooms in your eggs this morning? I think you're hallucinating." Kate strides over to stare in the hole. "What dead cow?"

"Leather, Kate, the leather cover of an upscale day runner. I think I can pull it out."

"Gloves, Castle," Kate warns, "We don't want Springer's lawyer's claiming I had my fiancé plant evidence. And I need to take pictures of it in place before we touch it."

"Of course. The book by the book. But hurry up. I can't wait to see what's in there."

"We'll have to have CSU open it and go over it for DNA and fingerprints from Springer, first. They'll photograph all the pages too. Then we can go through the entries."

Castle sticks out his lower lip. "How long is that going to take?"

"If we bring two dozen of Roxie's best doughnuts for the lab techs, we could luck out and be able to get started sometime tomorrow."

"And here I thought we were going by the book. Isn't bribery illegal?"

"Not unless we attempt to alter the tech's behavior. And if we wanted to do that, we'd have to take away their doughnuts, not bring them more."

Castle shakes his head. "Sometimes, I forget that you're the daughter of two lawyers. Well argued, Detective. Roxie's it is."

* * *

From beside the grand piano, Kate watches while Martha plays silent movie music as Rick and Alexis duel with epées. "Do you all do this often?" Kate asks as the diva pounds the keys.

"Not as often as we did, but it's an excellent way for Richard to get in some exercise, other than whatever the two of you enjoy."

Heat flows to Kate's face. Adjusting to the prospect of Martha as her mother-in-law will take some doing. The older women in her family never talked about sex that casually — when they talked about it at all. After their initial talk when Kate was approaching puberty, Johanna always answered any questions she had on the subject, but rarely started a conversation on the matter, other than reminding Kate to be careful. Jim Beckett never brought it up at all.

Martha finishes her accompaniment with a flourish as Rick and Alexis exchange salutes and remove their masks. Rick is no Errol Flynn. Who is? But Kate can't help thinking that he's dashing yet sweet, spending the time engaging with his daughter. She absently rubs her fingertips over her ring. Flamboyant future mother-in-law or not, accepting Rick's proposal was the right decision.

With a swashbuckling sweep of his arm, Rick pulls Kate to him. "Did the fair lady enjoy the match?"

"It was fun, although I somehow picture you more as swinging a lightsaber."

"Alexis and I do that too. We have a matched set, top of the line. Their only failing is that they aren't powered by the force. They need batteries. The sound effects are great, though. I'll have to get you one. You know, now that I think about it, Star Wars wouldn't be a bad theme for a wedding. That white dress Leah wore in Episode 4 would be lovely as a wedding gown. I could dress up as Han Solo."

"Or we could go for the pageantry at the end," Kate suggests, "and have you march down the aisle to me. But I'd have to give you a medal instead of a ring. And who would be Luke Skywalker?"

"You have a point," Castle acknowledges. "And anyway, whenever Alexis and I went to cons, I was Darth Vader and she was a tiny if fierce Princess Leah. Best to start a new chapter. Before Mother brings it up again, have you given any thought to when you want to tie the knot?"

Kate nods. "Everyone always wants to get married either in June or at Christmas. I've been a bridesmaid four times, and it was two and two. But I've always thought spring would be the best season. The flowers are just starting to poke up, and the trees are budding. It's a time for new beginnings."

Castle nods, planting a quick kiss on the top of Kate's head. "I like that. How about the end of April or the beginning of May? That will put it after Easter and before graduations. We won't have to cope with competing celebrations."

Kate wraps her arms around Rick's waist. "Sounds perfect."

Rick sniffs the aroma floating from the oven in the kitchen. "Unless my nose deceives me, the roasting of our chicken should be perfect too. Want to set the table?"

Visions of family dinners flit through Kate's head. As busy as her parents were, having time to sit down and eat with them was always special. And sitting down with the Castles will be pretty special too, like coming home. "Sure. I'd love to."


	45. Chapter 45

Poison Pen

Chapter 45

Running her fingers over the notations, Kate pages through the copies of Springer's day runner entries. "These are amazing. This stuff goes all the way back to 1987. Even then, Springer had his fingers in a lot of pies, but it doesn't look like Bracken had come on board yet. Notes about him start in 1990."

"Right," Castle agrees. "From the look of the appointments around that time, Springer helped Bracken become D.A. That's when Springer's drug business picks up. There's a note about having Bracken bring Coonan on board." Castle flips through his stack. "Lockwood joined up not long before your mother was killed. We know what happened then from the ledger Dominic found."

Kate pushes away from her desk and begins pacing the bullpen. "This stuff is pure gold, Castle. We'll not only nail Springer on charges worth sentences of about a thousand years; we can strike at the heart of about half of the crime in the city."

"That's incredible, Kate. But when we give this to the D.A., he'll have to reveal what he has to Springer's defense, won't he? And won't that allow Springer to put out a heads up to his minions?"

"He might try, Castle, but he also might not even bother. He pulled his money out of accounts in this country and was all set to leave his New York operations behind. Then he took out his longtime go-to guy and was going to leave him to rot."

"Not the actions of a man with a great deal of regard for his fellow sociopaths," Castle observes. "So what's the next step?"

"We pass all of this up the line and wait for our next case."

"That's a little anti-climactic, isn't it?" Castle wonders.

"The climax will come when we see Springer sentenced to life plus. But cheer up, Babe. There should be another body dropping any time — and we do have a wedding to plan."

Castle grins up at Kate. "Yes. Yes, we do."

* * *

Ryan looks on adoringly as Jenny takes a healthy bite of a curry fry. "I discovered these on a trip to Ireland to visit some of my relatives," she explains. "A lot of the Irish pubs in New York are more like sports bars, with wings and mozzarella sticks, but I just love the food at this one."

"And I love watching you enjoy it," Ryan shares.

"I think it's so romantic that you two are getting married," Jenny continues, gazing across the table at Rick and Kate. "I've read a lot of Rick's Storm novels, and it always seemed like Derrick was looking for someone, even when he was with Clara Strike. I guess Rick was too."

"True enough," Castle confides. "And now I've found her. Kate is my love and my inspiration.

"So when is your wedding going to be?" Jenny asks.

"We're thinking the second week of May," Kate replies, taking a sip of her beer. "We'll pin down the exact date when we find our venue. It should be warm enough by then to have the ceremony outside, but we want a place where we can move indoors if we need to."

"With the fall-off in crime since we arrested Elliott Springer, we've had time to look at a few spots," Castle adds, "but nothing hit the mark with both of us yet."

"You'll find the perfect place," Jenny declares. "I can feel it."

Rick squeezes Kate's hand. "I know we will."

Kate and Ryan's phones beep almost simultaneous alerts. Kate regards the message on her screen. "Looks like the lull is over. I apologize. We have to cut the evening short."

Ryan turns apologetically to Jenny. "I'm sorry. I need to go to the crime scene too. I'll take Jenny home and be right behind you," he informs Kate.

* * *

Castle stares down at the body in front of the door of an apartment house and notes the large mass of carved stone lying nearby. "Death by gargoyle?"

Lanie looks up from the body. "His skull was cracked by that ugly piece of rock."

"But the gargoyle had help," Esposito adds. "I checked the roof. There were pry marks where that thing was dislodged."

"So, it was a murder," Kate concludes. "Who is our victim?"

"William Medina," Esposito answers. "He had an I.D. from the museum."

Ryan rushes up the sidewalk to join them. "Sorry, I'm late. I wanted to make sure Jenny got in safely. Hey, is that Will Medina?"

"Yeah," Esposito confirms. "You know him?"

"No, but Jenny has one of those coffee table books with pictures of archaeological expeditions. He's in it."

"Indiana Jones," Castle remarks, "except that he couldn't defeat the murderous villain. I wonder if he hated snakes."

"We may find out when we interview his co-workers, but the museum would be closed now," Kate realizes. "We should check out his place, though."

"We'll have to go in through the back," Esposito. "The lock in this door is jammed. I buzzed for the super, and he couldn't open it."

"Of course, someone disabled it so that he could drop the gargoyle on Medina while he was trying to get in. Maybe the killer hoped that Will's death would be recorded as accidental," Castle concludes. "Whoever it was didn't count on Esposito's sharp eyes."

"That's good," Kate offers as Esposito preens. "If our murderer made one mistake, he or she might make another one."

* * *

Castle pulls a pair of high strappy sandals from under a queen-sized bed. "Very fetching, but unless Mr. Medina is into cross-dressing, I doubt they belonged to him."

Kate views the shoes and winks. "They'd be the wrong size anyway."

Medina definitely had female company," Esposito asserts, pulling a dogeared copy of _Eat, Pray, Love_ from a bookcase.

"Hey, I loved that book," Ryan protests. His partner snorts in disgust.

"There are two toothbrushes in the bathroom and one of those ladies' shavers," Castle observes. "Will's company was either live-in or stay-over a lot."

"I'll post unis here in case she comes back," Kate decides. "And we may learn something about her at the museum in the morning."

* * *

Kate sinks down to sit on the foot of the bed and pulls off her shoes. "I had a good time at the pub. I like Jenny. I think she's just what Ryan needs."

Castle takes a seat next to her. "I suspect Ryan agrees. The only person I know who is more hooked on a woman is me."

Kate brushes her fingers along his thigh. "Care to demonstrate?"

Rick toys with the top button on her blouse. "I could be persuaded."

Cupping the back of his head, Kate leans in for a kiss. "Like this?"

"It's a start." Rick rapidly unfastens her top to reveal the lacy bra beneath, and opens the front clasp, exposing the creamy globes underneath.

Kate gasps, her head falling back as his mouth finds a pink bud, anxious for his attention. She reaches for the growing fullness beneath his belt buckle and cups it in her palm. "Persuaded yet?"

Castle pulls her into his lap. Heat to heat, her legs wrap around his waist. "Almost." Their lips meet, drawn by an irresistible force, desperate fingers tearing at the barriers between them. As they come together, all conscious thought retreats under the assault of urgent need. Oblivious to anything but each other, only the night bears witness to their victory.


	46. Chapter 46

Poison Pen

Chapter 46

It's really pretty here," Kate remarks as she and Castle follow a path through a small park to the museum.

"It is," Castle agrees. "Alexis and I were here a lot when she was younger. We'd visit the museum almost every weekend. Sometimes we'd bring a Frisbee to throw around, but the dogs that people walk here were better at catching it than I was. I had to buy a few new ones when the pooches didn't want to give up their new toys."

"You must know the museum pretty well," Kate assumes.

"Not as well as I did. If Alexis wants to go to the museum now, all she has to do is hop on a train. She'll come with Paige, and more recently, Owen. I am a patron, so I get the good tours and invitations to the lectures." Fun flickers in Castle's eyes. "Last year I went to one on mummies. Very cool. A Stanford Oakes gave it. He's in charge of the archaeology department here."

"Wouldn't Will Medina have worked for Oakes?" Kate wonders.

"Probably, unless he's a visiting fellow or something. Even then, they'd have to coordinate their projects."

Kate nods. "Good. Let's go talk to Oakes."

* * *

"I didn't know Medina that well outside of our professional relationship," Oakes insists. "He made a name for himself when he discovered mummies on the Yucatan Peninsula. He was working on an exhibit highlighting his finds. It's scheduled to open next week. I thought the way he was putting it together was a bit sensationalized, but the Board was high on his ideas, so I left the details to him."

"Which exhibit?" Castle asks.

Oakes indicates a screened area. "The one in there. He said it was just about complete."

"Did Medina have any friends here?" Kate questions. "Was he seeing anyone?"

"As far as I could tell, Will was a loner. And we discourage dating among the staff," Oakes adds. "It can result in awkward situations, especially during fieldwork."

"Was anyone working with Medina?" Kate presses.

Oakes shrugs. "Rachel Walters occasionally did. She's our in-house expert on the preservation of artifacts."

"I need to talk to her," Kate declares.

She's in a lab in the basement. That's off-limits to the lay public. But I'll have her paged, and you can wait for her here."

Kate nods. "We'd appreciate that." Rick scowls as Oakes walks off. "What's the matter, Castle?"

"I've always wanted to see the basement. There's supposed to be over a hundred years of acquisitions down there, everything from arrowheads to dinosaur bones. I was hoping this case would give me an in."

Kate pats his shoulder. "Sorry about that, Babe"

Castle's eyebrows ripple mischievously. "We should check out the exhibit Medina was setting up. Maybe there's a clue."

"And you want to see the mummies."

"That too," Castle admits.

As Rick and Kate slip behind the screens, soft, spooky music reminiscent of the soundtrack of "Raiders of the Lost Ark," floats down from a speaker on the wall.

Rick glances around. "Either the mummies know we're here, or we triggered a sensor."

"I'd bet on the second option," Kate responds.

Rick points to a beat-up sable fedora hanging on the wall next to hand tools and brushes. "I wonder if Medina wore that on his expedition? How do you think I'd look in a hat like that?"

"Very dashing. Costume for your next con?"

"I was thinking more like Halloween, but one in better shape would be great for a mystery dinner too. Very forties." Rick holds an imaginary cigarette in a Bogart grip, pointing it at Kate. "I've been looking for you all my life, Doll."

A woman in a lab coat pops her head behind the screen. "Are you the police?"

Kate holds up her badge. "I'm the police. Mr. Castle is a civilian consultant. Are you Rachel Walters?"

"Yes. Dr. Oakes said you wanted to see me about Will Medina. Did something happen to him?"

"I'm sorry to tell you. Ms. Walters," Kate replies gently, "Will Medina is dead."

Rachel stuffs her fist in her mouth. "Oh, no! What happened?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Kate explains. "Dr. Oakes said you worked with Medina. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm him?"

"Um, I didn't know him that well. As Dr. Oakes told you, we collaborated. But archaeology can be a jealous field. Will was rising quickly, ahead of some colleagues who've been at it for decades longer. There may have been people who resented him. And then there was the warning he received to return the artifacts he found or face a deadly curse. It was written in Ancient Mayan. Not many people could have sent it. Will was one of the few who could translate the pictograms."

"How about Dr. Oakes? Could he translate them?" Castle inquires.

"I don't know," Rachel admits. "I suppose so, but it doesn't matter. Will could understand them, but he thought the warning was a prank and didn't take it seriously."

"Who would?" Castle wonders. "A curse? Come on!"

"Some archaeologists would believe they had reason to worry, Mr. Castle," Rachel insists. "Consider what happened to Howard Carter and the others involved with the discovery of King Tut."

"I know the story. Carter died of Hodgkin's lymphoma. That disease is a curse on humanity, but most of its victims have never been near a mummy," Castle argues.

"Ms. Walters, the N.Y.P.D. doesn't deal in the supernatural," Kate inserts. "Would there be a list somewhere of experts in the Ancient Mayan language?"

"You could try the Archaeologist's Society," Rachel suggests. "They have an office downtown and keep profiles on their members."

"Thanks," Kate acknowledges. "We'll do that."

"Was it my imagination, or did Ms. Walters seem more upset than one would be over the death of a colleague one barely knows?" Castle mulls, as Rachel returns to her work.

"It wasn't your imagination," Kate declares, "and the shoes Rachel is wearing look like a seven and a half medium."

"The same size I found under the bed in Will Medina's apartment," Castle notes. "So the question is, did Rachel lie about her relationship with Will because the museum would frown upon it, or did she have a more insidious reason."

"That's what we're going to find out, Castle. And as long as we're dropping in on the Archaeologists Society, we can check the profiles of Rachel Walters, Stanford Oakes, and the rest of their colleagues at the museum."

* * *

Kate points to a catering truck pulling up to the museum as she and Rick are leaving. "Do they hold parties here?"

"All kinds of functions. People plunk down their money to dine amid the wonders of the pre-modern world. It's a decent stream of income for the museum. I once arranged a birthday celebration for Alexis in the Hall of Evolution. Her giggling guests spent almost the entire time discussing when the boys would catch up to the girls and make it beyond the caveman stage."

Kate thoughtfully presses two fingers to her lips. "I'll admit that I've often wondered about that myself. What was their conclusion?"

"That if the boys ever did catch up, the girls would already be evolved beyond them," Castle replies. "At the time, however, the young ladies had yet to reach puberty. Their opinions probably changed."

Kate bumps her hip against Rick's. "I wouldn't put money on it, Babe."


	47. Chapter 47

Poison Pen

Chapter 47

"You're in luck!" Merriweather Seward proclaims in response to Kate's query. "The Society does maintain listings of our members' areas of expertise. But in the case of Ancient Mayan culture, you're likely to find most or all of them in one place now and for the next few days. There's a conference on the subject going on at the Marriott, the one on Central Park West. Advanced civilizations existing before Europeans invaded this hemisphere are an area of interest for me. I was considering visiting the exhibition floor, myself." Merri reaches into the top drawer of her desk and pulls out a brochure. "This is an outline of the presentations." Grabbing a highlighter, she overlines several entries and hands the document to Kate. "Those are the specialists in linguistics."

Kate scans the names. "Thank you. Ms. Seward. You've been very helpful."

Pink suffuses Merriweather's cheeks. "I admit, I found Will Medina's work fascinating. He will be missed. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"I will," Kate responds, "and thank you again for your help."

"Just as a guess," Castle ventures as he and Kate leave the Archeological Society offices, "I'd say that Ms. Seward was taken with more than Will Medina's work. He really is a Jonesian figure. Why are rogue treasure hunters such chick magnets?"

"Maybe because we think they know how to delve into titillating secrets. But I found Indy disappointing. When the opportunity arose for Marian to explore some of his mysteries, he fell asleep."

"He was beaten up and exhausted," Castle protests.

"I suppose," Kate allows, grabbing a handful of Castle's well rounded posterior, "but I prefer a man who I excite enough to keep awake."

Castle quirks an eyebrow. "Then may I assure my bride-to-be that regardless of circumstances, I will be up for whatever she desires."

* * *

"What's going on there?" Castle wonders, surveying a demonstration in front of the conference-hosting hotel. "The signs in English say, 'Graverobbers and thieves,' but the guy with the long hair and furious expression who's leading the line has one in pictographs." Kate starts toward the man in question. "Let me talk to him, Kate," Castle urges. "Someone that angry will get defensive to a cop. I can approach him as a writer and ask for his story."

"OK, Castle," Kate agrees, "but let's set up our phones so I can listen to what he tells you. If he sounds like he has anything to do with Will Medina's death, I'm stepping in."

"Roger that."

Arranging his face in his most curious smile, Castle ambles up to the wild-eyed leader. "Excuse me. I'm a novelist, Richard Castle, and I'm working on a plot that may turn on stolen artifacts. I always try to be as authentic as I can. Can you tell me why you're here?"

"Why I'm here? I'm a Mayan, that's why I'm here," the sign-carrier retorts. "My name is Cacaw Te, and I'm protesting the pillaging of our land. These so-called archaeologists are no more than thieves. They desecrate our holy places and steal our heritage. I, all of us here, are calling for the return of what is rightfully ours."

"What kinds of things do you want back?" Castle queries.

"Everything that was taken from us, but it should start with the human remains that despoiler Medina made the cover of Time magazine for removing from their resting place."

"Remains?" Castle repeats. "You mean human bones?"

"I mean mummies, perfectly preserved by our ancient knowledge. Vengeful wrath will fall on anyone complicit in that violation of sacred ground."

"What kind of vengeance?" Castle presses.

"An ancient curse, loosing a multitude of misfortunes and miseries unto death and beyond," Cacaw Te replies. "The gods will enlist any creature in their cause. They have a thirst for blood that must be slaked."

"Oh, they did some slaking all right. Are you aware that Will Medina is dead?" Castle inquires.

"I got an alert on my Twitter feed," Cacaw Te replies. "His ending was inevitable. But until what was stolen is returned, disasters will not cease."

"If you're expecting disaster, you should inform the police," Castle suggests.

"Police have no defense against the gods," Cacaw Te claims.

Kate strides up to join Castle and the doomsayer. "We can try. Kate Beckett, Detective, N.Y.P.D. I need to talk to you about Will Medina."

"You can talk all you like, Detective," Cacaw Te responds, "but the answers will come from the gods, not from me."

"We'll see what the gods say when I take you to the precinct for interrogation," Kate declares.

* * *

"Bad news, Beckett," Ryan announces. "Cacaw Te's fingerprints match the ones on the warning card that the museum turned over, but his alibi is solid. We checked with the radio station, where he was giving an interview to gin up his followers. The broadcast was live during the time Will Medina was murdered. Cacaw Te couldn't have done it."

Kate slams her palm on her desk. "Then we're back to square one."

"Maybe not," Castle suggests. "It's apparent that Rachel lied to us and pretty much sent us on a wild goose chase. I'm willing to bet she knew we'd encounter that demonstration where those archaeologists would be, and she tried to distract us with all that curse nonsense. There's something she doesn't want us to find out, besides that she was cuddling up with Will Medina. Maybe he had a side racket, and she was in on it."

Kate pops out of her chair. "If there was a side racket, it will probably show up in their financials."

"Ah, you've already gone with one of the primary rules of crime-solving," Castle remarks, "_Cherchez la femme_. Now we adhere to number two, follow the money."

"We can follow it in the morning," Kate announces, smothering a yawn. "I'll put the paperwork in now, but we probably won't get the records until then."

Castle offers his arm before he and Kate step on the elevator to leave the bullpen. "How would you like to spend the evening? You sound tired. You want to curl up after dinner, maybe turn in early?"

"Yes to the curling up part, but we'll need to do it with a stack of bridal magazines that Martha gave me. I promised her I'd go through them to look at ideas for venues."

"And you want me to share your pain."

"Maybe a little, Babe, but if a location does pop out at me, we'd have to agree on it anyway. I've been in weddings with bridezillas who insist on my way or the highway. The grooms were hungover from retreating with their buddies and bottles, and the tension between the families put a damper on everything. I want to find someplace that we'll both love."

"If you're there, I don't know how I could help loving it, but doing a periodical search could be amusing. We can heckle the grossly unacceptable together. If you throw popcorn at a bad movie, what do you do to photos of bad wedding venues? Maybe big Xs in red magic marker?" Rick proposes. "We could take turns applying the ink."

"That does sound like fun," Kate agrees. "So X will mark anything but the perfect spot. Wow! I think you're starting to rub off on me."

"I'd rather rub against you. You never said you wanted to turn in early."

Kate flutters her eyelashes. "No, I never did."


	48. Chapter 48

Poison Pen

Chapter 48

"Wow!" Castle exclaims, skimming the printout of Rachel Walters' financials. "The museum sends me copies of its budget to encourage my largesse. If its people made this kind of money, it would have to sign on Gates or Bloomberg as patrons. Rachel has to have another source of income, a very generous one."

Kate studies the figures in front of her. "Same thing with Medina. Could he be getting the extra revenue from book sales?"

Castle looks over her shoulder. "No way. Even if he was writing bestsellers, the pattern of deposits is all wrong. Publishers are quite systematic. The payments Medina received are pretty haphazard."

"They are," Kate agrees, "but one thing about them is consistent. Every amount is just under $10,000. The bank wouldn't have to report them to the IRS."

Castle scans the listings for Rachel. "Same here. All of this virtually shouts illegality. But what was their scam, and how did it get Will Medina killed?"

"They must have been selling something," Kate muses, "but what?"

Castle absently shoves a lock of hair off his forehead. "Kate, remember when I told you about the basement of the museum? There are supposed to be things consigned to the depths that have never seen the light of day since the 1800s, and possibly never will again. Rachel works down there, and Will had full access. There's nothing in the budget for an inventory, which adds to the mystique of the place, so Will and Rachel could have sold the museum's artifacts to collectors with no one being the wiser."

"Castle, if that stuff is so valuable, why doesn't the museum put it on display?"

"Interests change. Fads, like a fascination with mummies, come and go. There's also a matter of space. It takes a lot less of it to store things than display them. But there is another possibility I didn't consider."

"What?" Kate asks.

"By using their association with the museum for credibility, Will and Rachel could have been selling phonies. They'd be familiar with the factors necessary to simulate age, and they could use museum facilities to produce what they wanted. That way, they wouldn't have to depend on what they could find stowed in forgotten corners. They could create artifacts to order."

"If collectors thought they were buying something illegally obtained, they wouldn't dare ask for outside authentication," Kate figures.

"Unless someone did," Castle proposes. "A foreign national, especially someone with diplomatic credentials, wouldn't care about getting caught in the act. They'd barely be a blip on law enforcement radar, and could probably ship anything they wanted back home."

Kate nods slowly. "Right, maybe royals from the Middle East or the representatives of some minor but rich potentate."

"Yes," Castle continues. "Unknown to Medina, a buyer finds a lab in New York that does carbon 14 dating or whatever else they need to make sure the merchandise is as ancient as claimed. But the sirens go off, and the warning lights flash. Will Medina has tried to rip off the wrong collector, one who wreaks revenge by gargoyle."

Kate leans her elbows on her desk, supporting her face with her closed fists. "Castle, visitors with diplomatic credentials come in and out of New York every day to go to the United Nations, make business deals, or just kick up their heels a little. If we follow your theory, we'll have to narrow down our pool of suspects. That will mean tracing the sources of the payments to Medina, and maybe Rachel too."

"Or we could ask Rachel. She'd be familiar with Will's customer list," Castle suggests.

Kate groans. "At which point she lawyers up and shuts down."

Mischief dances over Castle's features. "Not necessarily, if we set up a little cosplay. I suspect we might find Mother something more engaging to do than buy out the city's stock of bridal magazines."

* * *

"Darlings," Martha announces, "I've found you the most exquisite actors for the roles Richard wrote, and the costume house we used for my last play in the experimental theater has everything that they'll need to pull off your little show. With a little imagination, we should be able to use this place for rehearsal."

"How much imagination, Mother?" Castle asks.

"Richard, I thought you were immersed in the spirit of the performance," Martha rebukes. "We just push the furniture back, creating a space where the actors can feel their roles. And it will help them to play opposite a beautiful woman. Kate, will you be reading Rachel?"

"Except for summer camp when I was seven, I haven't acted in a play," Kate protests.

With a sweep of her arm, Martha dismisses Kate's objection. "In the case of your experience, the play was not the thing. As a detective, you act every day. Pulling confessions out of your suspects by making them believe what you want them to believe requires nothing if not skill in the craft. You'll do fine."

* * *

Even in the air conditioning of the museum, the _keffiyeh_ clad men Kate dispatched to meet with Rachel at the museum are sweating under their flowing _thobes_. Kate, Martha, and Rick can hear and see what's going on through coms and tiny cameras concealed in the rope-like _egals, _but Kate's getting more nervous by the minute.

"Word passes quickly through the marketplace. We've heard of the passing of your partner," Martha's appointed lead, Haleem, begins. "Most unfortunate, and the reason even more so. We would assume that no such error will ever take place again. Any attempts to present anything less than completely genuine to anyone in our brotherhood will again be met with the swiftest of justice."

Rachel's throat tightens. "I assure you that no error was intended. Will checked the provenance of the article in question, but the paperwork was old and the fraud ancient. I assure you that I will eliminate any chance that such an unfortunate event will ever happen again. Please make that clear to _Abdamalek_. I'm surprised he didn't come himself."

"He was called to appear before the master," the actor improvises. "Such a serious breach requires direct handling."

"Of course," Rachel agrees. "Would there be any particular item in which the master has a present interest?"

"Tiwanaku medallions. It was rumored that in its early days, the museum obtained some from an adventurer who explored the Island of the Sun. The master believes them to be objects of power."

"Of course," Rachel agrees. "I'm familiar with the legends of the area. I will conduct a search. Shall I contact _Abdamalek_ if I discover them?"

Beneath his thobe, Haleem's heart is banging against his chest. "He can accept no further contact until the master gives him leave." Haleem signals to another actor who hands Rachel the card he's been holding. "Call that number," Haleem instructs Rachel.

"Of course," Rachel acknowledges. "There will be no further errors."

"No, there won't," Haleem warns, signaling his companions to precede him out of the museum.

Martha claps enthusiastically as her troupe approaches benches at the edge of the park. "Bravo!"

"It couldn't have gone better," Castle adds.

"It was good," Kate confirms. "The ball's in Rachel's court now. If she calls the number you gave her, we have her."

This calls for a celebration." Castle declares. "Would you men like to join us at Abraham's? Best beef in the city, totally halal. I think the health department gave the place an A-plus."

Haleem grins. "You had me at beef."


	49. Chapter 49

Poison Pen

Chapter 49

Castle pushes a plate with his daily scramble aside to study the text on his phone. "What's going on, Babe?" Kate queries.

"Judge Mencas rearranged her docket. Badcock's trial is starting this morning."

"You should go," Kate urges.

The grooves flanking Castle's nose deepen. "We're right in the middle of the Medina murder."

"Yeah, but Rachel Walters hasn't had time to find or fake the artifacts that Haleem requested. I'll be tracking down more records on Medina's financial dealings and using databases that, as a civilian, you're not cleared to access. I can slog through the figures on my own or ask the boys to pitch in."

"And you'll let me know if Rachel calls our special number or anything else interesting pops up?"

"Sure." Kate holds out her hand to him. "Partners, right? And you'll keep me updated on the trial?"

"Absolutely. If there's a long enough recess, maybe we can meet for lunch."

* * *

Searching through the descriptions of past museum exhibitions, Rachel locates one featuring a Tiwanaku stone figure. There's no mention of medallions, but if they were discovered in the waters near Island of the Sun, they could have been carried on currents from Ecuador and been culturally distinct. The museum might have chosen to put them aside for future exhibitions. With changes in curators, it's possible they were forgotten entirely. Gold would have been locked up, but there are rows of old cabinets where medallions might be. She's going to have a long hunt, but it will be safer than trying to sell fakes — a lot safer.

* * *

Castle manages to find a place midway back in the courtroom. Looking around before the proceedings start, he realizes that the room, unlike the ones in the courtroom scenes on television, is reasonably large, the modern seats making it seem more like a public auditorium than the solemn seat of the law. But it's solemn enough when everyone is called to rise for the honorable Judge Judith Brody Mencas.

By shifting sideways in his seat, Castle can see Badcock at the defendant's table, talking to — or more like arguing with — his lawyer. Good, the less attention Badcock pays to his lawyer's advice, the more likely he is to screw himself. Judge Mencas proceeds quickly through the preliminary, and A.D.A. Gonzales rises to make an opening statement. Even as he settles back, trying to relax, Gonzales' words etch themselves into Rick's brain.

* * *

"Sorry we couldn't do better than this," Castle apologizes, as Kate spreads spicy mustard on her hot dog. "Judge Mencas said court would resume in an hour and I don't want to lose my seat. I can make it from this vendor back to the courtroom in five minutes, especially if I take the stairs. Waiting for the elevator at the courthouse is like waiting for Godot. The end of the trial could come without the thing ever arriving."

"It can seem like that sometimes," Kate agrees. "So, what's happened so far?"

"The prosecution made a good pitch. Gonzales projected Badcock's manifesto on a big screen while doing a dramatic reading of the craziest parts. Then she laid out how Badcock killed Connor O'Donnell and tried to kill me. Gonzales brought up Salmon Ivanovich to further establish the pattern. She also outlined the details like the shrew toxin. I could see the jury recoil at her descriptions. I thought the whole thing was well played."

"How about the defense?"

"When court resumes. How about you? Anything juicy?"

Kate shrugs. "I don't know about juicy unless you count the can of Orange Crush I got out of the vending machine. I started trying to correlate money Will Medina took in with some of his previous expeditions. His unexplained wealth is relatively recent. The funding for most of his previous digs barely covered the shovels and tents."

"You said 'most,'" Castle notes. "Were there exceptions?"

Kate dabs at her mouth with a paper napkin. "There was one. From what I could put together of the story, a wealthy businessman with political connections in Egypt, Adom Gamal, has an obsession with connecting the ancient civilizations in Central and South America with the history of Egypt."

"That makes sense," Castle considers. "A lot of people have speculated about that because of the pyramids."

"Right," Kate agrees. "But this guy takes it to a whole new level. He's thrown a fortune at proving his own little pet theories. Apparently, that's why he tied up with Will Medina."

"Does Gamal collect artifacts?" Castle wonders.

"I don't know. Nothing I've seen so far goes into that, but it's possible. What are you thinking, Castle?"

"Follow this. I looked up _Abdamalek._ It translates to servant. He'd be fronting for whoever Rachel and Will's buyer is. Considering that we're talking about an Arab looking for relics from South America, Adom Gamal would be a likely candidate. And if he is as obsessed as you describe, and discovered that Will cheated him, he might be angry enough to have him stoned at the gate, so to speak. That the stone employed was a gargoyle could be a red herring, a very ugly red herring."

"I'll check further into Adom Gamal," Kate decides. "Court usually adjourns around five. Meet you at the loft for dinner?"

Castle tastes mustardy heat as he grabs a quick kiss. "I'll be counting the minutes."

* * *

Defense counsel George Kirby rises to address the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not going to insult your intelligence by disputing what Ms. Gonzalez told you. The evidence is beyond dispute. What I do want to talk to you about is what Mr. Badcock's actions represent. Simon Badcock sees this world through only one lens: that of the written word. And as with a lens, a scratch, a scrape, or even a smudge can completely distort your view. Simon Badcock's perception of what constitutes reality and indeed, right and wrong is as distorted as the image in a funhouse mirror. Yes, he committed crimes which Ms. Gonzalez called indefensible. But Mr. Badcock believed he was combating the indefensible. His standards of right and wrong rest entirely on what flows from the tip of a pen. Mr. Badcock's crimes were his way of doing the right thing, correcting offenses against the world his twisted mind inhabits. And knowing that, you must conclude that he was incapable of understanding or accepting that he was doing anything wrong."

Castle reviews the notes he made while Kirby was speaking. The verbal picture the lawyer painted makes sense on the surface, but if it were true, why would Badcock have tried to hide from his crimes. Indeed, why would he have run to the Morehouse farm? Deep down, Badcock knew what he was doing was wrong; at least he knew that he'd get punished if caught. Toni Gonzales will have to find a way to make that clear to the jury. The least Rick can do is pass on his observations, or better yet, ask Kate to do it. Most likely, the prosecutor will probably find them more acceptable, coming from a cop than a would-be victim. Rick can type up his ideas tonight, and he and Kate can put their heads together. Whether as a lover or a crime-busting partner, he can no longer imagine his home without her.

* * *

Rachel's lost count of how many collections she's gone through. Too bad she isn't looking for something bigger, like the carved stone idol the museum exhibited. A gold medallion could hide in or under anything. But at least gold doesn't camouflage itself beneath tarnish as silver would. The medallions will still shine as brightly as they did for the Tiwanaku. She just has to find them.


	50. Chapter 50

Poison Pen

Chapter 50

"I sent Toni Gonzales an email and a text," Kate announces, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Castle offers. "Hopefully, she'll read at least one of them before Badcock's trial reconvenes."

Castle leans over the counter to brush Kate's hair with his lips. "Thanks. She should be starting to present witnesses this morning. Any idea who she'll call?"

"She'd have to start with establishing Badcock's crimes," Kate explains, "so, the first cop on the scene when Connor O'Donnell was killed, and others who can lay down the facts. Normally she'd call me, but since I'm engaged to you, Kirby would accuse me of bias. She'll have to go through all the autopsy details with Lanie, too. Then, she'll need testimony from whoever can swear that Badcock delivered the poison doughnuts and that they weren't poisoned when he bought them. There shouldn't be much you don't know."

Castle scowls, shaking his head. "I don't see why she'd have to bother. Kirby isn't disputing the facts, just Badcock's sanity."

"Did he stipulate to them or just say that in his opening statement?" Kate queries.

"Just the opening statement."

"That doesn't count as evidence. Unless Kirby stipulates that Badcock did everything Gonzales says he did, there's no case, and Badcock walks. But since the jury knows that Badcock committed murder and attempted murder, they're going to be bored while Gonzales goes through all that. It's probably a good move on Kirby's part. Gonzales will have to make her presentation as brief as possible. However, if she goes along with your suggestion about emphasizing consciousness of guilt, she'll give the jury something new to think about and undercut Kirby's case."

"Kate, if you ever decide to follow your original career path and go to law school, you'd probably ace every class. Jurisprudence genes?"

"More like being involved with a lot of trials. It's no good catching a killer if you can't get a conviction. That's why I'm so careful about making sure we have solid evidence. Otherwise, I'm wasting my time and the taxpayers' money. And you know how Montgomery feels about the taxpayers' money."

"Considering what I shell out to the city every year, I'm not crazy about seeing it wasted either. So more delving into Adom Gamal for you today?"

"Probably, and any other possible buyers, unless we get a call from Rachel Walters. And then…" Kate taps her finger alongside her nose.

Castle grins. "The Sting! I don't want to miss that. Can you set up the takedown when the court's out of session?"

Kate leans in to deliver a coffee-flavored kiss. "I'll do my best."

* * *

Rachel almost misses the medallions. The envelope holding them is unmarked and stuck behind a tray of spondylus shells and semi-precious stones, but the contents are unmistakable. The images of a deity with rays coming out of its face look exactly like Tiwanaku relics described in the literature. Their sale will not only fatten her bank account, but it will also forestall any ideas her customer might have about dropping a gargoyle on her. She feels for the card in the pocket of her lab coat. The sooner she makes the call, the better.

* * *

Retired Detective Moshe Gardner stares at the cellphone sitting on the desk in his den. With a father holding duel professorships at Boston University and Weissman Institute, he spent a lot of his childhood in Israel, quickly picking up both Hebrew and Arabic. He's always been interested in archaeology anyway, so educating himself on Tiwanaku artifacts wasn't much of a chore.

Playing a part in Detective Beckett's masquerade could be almost as much fun as a visit with his grandchildren. Almost. Anyway, Moshe's always anxious to help out the force when he can, even if that mostly consists of buying tickets to fundraisers and holding training sessions for civilians interested in keeping crime out of their neighborhoods.

Moshe chides himself that a watched phone never rings and reaches for his copy of The Ledger. A chime sounds, urging him to take a call. Game on!

* * *

Kate listens intently to the recording of Gardner's call with Rachel. Under New York's "one-party consent," law, Gardner's agreement will make it admissible in a case against Rachel Walters. Whether Will Medina's partner in crime stole the medallions or faked them, doesn't matter. Now Kate has the leverage she needs to get Rachel to talk. That Rachel wants to turn over the medallions that night should work out perfectly. Castle will get to see their plan come together.

* * *

After dark, and with the museum closed, the only people in the park are busy walking their dogs — except for Rachel Walters. Her meet should be taking place any minute. Squinting through the dim park lighting, she spies a man coming toward her. As far as she can make out, he's wearing a suit, not a _thobe_, but a kaffiyeh tops his head. "Ms. Walters?" he inquires.

Rachel nods, recognizing the voice she heard on the phone.

"Did you bring them?" Moshe inquires.

"Did you bring the money?" Rachel responds.

"I need to examine the merchandise before rendering payment," Moshe insists. "There is, as I'm sure you are aware, a field test for gold. If the pieces are genuine, it will inflict no damage on them. Your hands, however, would suffer severely if touched by the solution." He indicates a nearby picnic table near a light post. "We can use that." Moshe spreads a small sheet of plastic over the wood and pulls a dropper bottle out of a sealed bag. "Just put the medallions down. This will only take a moment."

"Get ready," Kate whispers into her walkie-talkie. Rachel hesitantly lays two medallions down on the plastic. "Move in! Move in!"

Moshe makes a show of placing a drop of fluid on each medallion. "No reaction. That is excellent, Ms. Walters." He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit for an envelope and hands it to her.

"Now," Kate commands. Cops emerge from the shadows, guns drawn. "Rachel Walters," Kate proclaims, pulling out her handcuffs as Castle beams, "you are under arrest."

* * *

"The medallions do belong to the museum," Stanford Oakes confirms to Rick and Kate, over lunch in the museum cafeteria. "We obtained those Tiwanaku artifacts before our records were digitized, but my predecessor knew where they'd be located. The descriptions and photographs match precisely. There's no doubt that Rachel stole them."

Castle grins. "Just what we needed to hear."

"Don't look so happy, Mr. Castle," Oakes chides. "Both Medina and Rachel were excellent at their jobs. They'll be extremely difficult for the museum to replace."

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Oakes," Kate interjects, "but Medina was guilty of fraud, and Rachel theft, at the very least. And if Rachel's been willfully hiding information about Will's murder, that makes her complicit in that as well."

"I can't imagine they would pass the vetting process for employees," Castle adds.

"Of course not," Oakes agrees. "What's going to happen to Rachel?"

"That," Kate replies, "is going to depend entirely on her and how much she's willing to cooperate in nailing Medina's killer." She turns to Rick. "Do you have to get back to court?"

"No. Judge Mencas said she had responsibilities elsewhere and adjourned until tomorrow morning. So do I get to be in on Rachel's interrogation?"

"Considering that you came up with the sting, it's only fair."


	51. Chapter 51

Poison Pen

Chapter 51

Twisting and untwisting her fingers, Rachel gazes around Interrogation while Kate and Rick watch through the glass. "She looks scared," Castle observes.

"That's good," Kate offers. "She'll be looking for a lifeline, and we can throw her one."

Rick regards the prisoner. "I'm surprised she didn't ask for a lawyer."

Kate shrugs. "She had the chance. She still does, but maybe she thinks trying to deal with her situation on her own will make her less guilty. She doesn't know we have her financials. Maybe she doesn't want to reveal that she has the means to hire an attorney. In any case, it's to our advantage that she wants to go it alone. Let's get in there."

Plopping down a pile of file folders, Kate takes a seat opposite Rachel, and Castle slides in beside her. "Ms. Walters, we've confirmed that the medallions you tried to sell last night were the property of the museum. We also have considerable evidence that the sale was not your first offense. You and Will Medina have both been selling artifacts and not always genuine ones, which is what we believe led to Medina's death."

"It was all Will's idea," Rachel claims. "I've been interested in archaeology since I was a kid. I was always digging around in the backyard searching for evidence of ancient civilizations."

"Did you find any?" Castle asks.

"Of course not!" Rachel retorts, "but I did find a ring my mother lost. That got me hooked on looking for other things, and later on learning to preserve them. I was happy with my work for the museum — until Will came along. He had a private patron that funded one of his expeditions. I think that Will might have been helping his money man out in return."

"You mean stealing for him," Kate corrects.

"Sometimes. It was just stuff the museum didn't need and didn't care about. And then there were some times that we couldn't find the relics that Will's guy wanted."

"So you faked them," Castle fills in.

"Yes," Rachel admits. "That's probably what got Will killed."

Kate stands, leaning into Rachel's space. "Who killed him?"

"I don't know who dropped the gargoyle, but I might know who was behind it."

"Who?" Kate presses.

"Will's dig was financed by Adom Gamal, but Will didn't communicate with him directly. I'm not even 100% sure he was Will's buyer. Until I received the request for the medallions, Will always went through a man we called _Abdamalek_. He might have killed Will, or arranged for someone to do it."

"How do we find this _Abdamalek_?" Kate queries.

"I don't know where he is. Usually, he would contact Will to ask for a meeting, but if Will had something he thought whoever _Abdamalek_ was working for would want, he'd post a message in an archaeologist's chat room."

"What kind of a message?" Kate demands.

"'Meet me at Omar's.' It's a line from…"

"Raiders of the Lost Ark," Castle finishes.

"What would happen after Will posted?" Kate questions.

"_Abdamalek_ would turn up at the museum."

"When's the last time he was there?" Kate asks. "Would he show up on the security video?"

Rachel shakes her head. "It was six weeks ago, and I remember Will telling me that the security video gets overwritten every month. You can check, but I doubt that _Abdamalek_ would be on it anymore."

"We will check, and if there's no video, I want you to work with a sketch artist. Give us what we need, and I'll put the D.A. in the mood to make a deal," Kate promises.

Rachel leans forward, hopefully. "Whatever you want."

* * *

Arms crossed, Rick regards the sketch on the murder board as he strokes the stubble forming on his chin. "Kate, there's something familiar about this face, I just can't put my finger on it."

"Maybe you've seen him at the museum, Castle."

"I don't think so. And it's not the whole face. It's something about the shape of the eyes. Oh, God, Kate! You remember Merriweather Seward?"

"From the Archaeology Society? Sure. She sent us on that wild goose chase after Cacaw Te."

"She has eyes like this, and her nose is similar too. Maybe she and _Abdamalek_ are related, perhaps brother and sister. Think about it. Everything in the archaeology world would pass across her desk. She'd know all the players, and who she could recruit to fill orders."

"It's possible," Kate allows. "I'm going to run a DMV on Sewards and see what pops up, but do you want to head back to the loft? It's almost six."

"Alexis has an English Lit. test coming up, and she and Paige are going to do a pizza and study thing. There might even be some hair braiding involved. They don't need me around for that. I'll check on them later. I could order pizza for us while you run your search," Castle offers.

"Make it Chinese, and you've got a deal."

* * *

Pushing aside an empty spareribs container, Kate compares a printout of Winston Seward's DMV photo with the sketch of Abdamalek. It could be him, Castle."

"If it's not, it would be one hell of a coincidence," Castle responds. "You have an address on him?"

"A home address. Probably the best time to catch him there would be first thing in the morning before he leaves for work or whatever he does. What time is Judge Mencas calling court back into session?"

"Ten o'clock."

"We could drop in on Seward around six and see what happens. You might even still be able to see Alexis before she goes off to school."

"You really are getting into the rhythm of the household," Castle grins. "Great! As the sun rises, we shall close in on our quarry."

* * *

Grumbling his way to answer the insistent rapping on his door, Winston Seward tightens the sash on his robe. His mouth goes dry as he views the badge in front of his peephole, but he opens the door. If the police had anything substantial on him, they wouldn't just knock.

"Mr. Seward?" Kate inquires, not bothering to get an answer. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett, and I'm sorry for the early hour, but when we investigate a murder, we work 24/7. Can we come in?"

Even as Winston waves his visitors inside, he can feel his skin chill. "I'm sorry, Detective, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I don't know anything about a murder."

"Have you ever met a William Medina?" Kate continues.

"What? No. I've never heard of him."

"How about a Rachel Walters?"

"No. Look, Detective, you've got the wrong guy. I'm a scrap iron dealer. The only things I see die are old cars. So if you don't mind, now that you got me out of bed, I might as well get dressed and go to work. I have a load scheduled to ship out of the Port of Newark this morning."

"All right, Mr. Seward. I'm sorry for waking you," Kate apologizes. "We'll leave now. You have a good rest of the day."

"He's lying," Rick insists once he and Kate have gained some distance from Winston's door. "Never heard of Will Medina, my ass! His bookshelf was full of archaeology books, including one featuring Will's finds in the Yucatan."

"I saw it too, Babe. And if he's an exporter, he has a perfect way to smuggle artifacts. Almost anything could be hidden in a load of scrap metal."

Castle pulls out his phone and rapidly types in a query. "Wow! Kate, Scrap metal is one of the U.S.'s chief exports to Egypt. Seward could locate what Adom Gamal wants and send it over in a regular shipment, no diplomatic credentials required. No muss, no fuss, no questions asked."

"But no immunity," Kate realizes. "With Rachel's testimony, we'll have him."


	52. Chapter 52

Poison Pen

Chapter 52

"What is so damn urgent, Winny?" Merriweather Seward demands, joining her brother at a back table in a downtown Java Hut.

"I'll tell you what's so damn urgent, Merri," Winston retorts, "cops banging on my door and asking about Medina. You claimed they'd never find out what we did; that nothing would come near me. They know something, maybe a lot."

"Calm down, Winny," Merri counsels. "Was it a Detective Beckett with that mystery writer I like?"

Winston nods.

"Look, if they actually had anything, they would have arrested you — and me too." Merri asserts. "Rachel doesn't know who you really are, and she doesn't know about me at all. Maybe someone you know saw you at the museum, and the cops are taking a wild swing in the dark. Beckett and her writer friend aren't that bright. I didn't have any trouble leading them around by the nose."

Winston slaps his palm against the table. "You could be right, but I don't like it. Maybe I should take off for a while."

Merri shakes her head. "That would be like hanging an 'I'm guilty,' sign around your neck. Just do what you would normally do. Make sure your shipments go out on time and that what comes out of the Cardano wrecking yard doesn't have any visible body parts in it. Sooner or later, the cops will get frustrated with the case and give up."

Winston stares disconsolately at his untouched coffee. "I hope you're right."

"I know I'm right," Merri declares. "Will Medina was the only one who could finger us for anything, and dead archaeologists tell no tales."

* * *

When Gonzales calls Chief Morris as a witness, it sparks an immediate upturn in Castle's lips. Morris managed the takedown of Badcock on the Morehouse farm and can testify to Badcock's efforts to avoid getting caught. Gonzales quickly takes the chief through his credentials and his search for the fugitive. The upstate cop carefully outlines the arrest of Badcock as he was attempting to conceal himself behind the hay.

"So, to summarize, Chief Morris, based on your experience in law enforcement in a farm community, Mr. Badcock was not engaged in performing agricultural chores."

"No, Ms. Gonzales, he wasn't. Mr. Babcock was attempting to conceal himself to evade capture," Morris confirms.

"He didn't appear confused about why he was being arrested?" Toni presses.

"He appeared angry, but not confused," Morris responds.

"So, in your judgment, Mr. Badcock was aware that he committed a crime."

Morris nods. "Yes, Ma'am, he certainly was."

"Booyah!" Castle mutters under his breath. "Score one for the good guys."

* * *

Studying the image of Winston Seward on his export company's website, Rachel confirms that Winston is Abdamalek. "What now?" she asks Kate.

"Now you sit down with someone from the D.A.'s office and tell everything you know, and if you're going to get the best break, you can't leave out the tiniest detail. I'll take care of Mr. Seward and getting the evidence to back up your story."

"Do you think I'll go to jail?" Rachel wonders. "I didn't hurt anyone."

"That will depend on the D.A. and the judge. You broke the law. There's going to be a penalty for that, one way or another, besides losing your job at the museum. But just tell the truth, Rachel. Don't try to embroider it or try to make yourself look better. That will give you your best chance. Judges like straight shooters."

"OK, Detective. Good luck with Abdamalek."

"Good luck to you too, Rachel."

* * *

Castle looks up from his sandwich of questionable contents in the courthouse cafeteria as Kate approaches his table. "Glad you could make it. The judge gave us an hour, so we have time to talk."

"I was coming anyway," Kate admits. "I need to get a search warrant for Winston Seward's apartment and his business. I got more than enough from Rachel Walters to put in my affidavits, and I don't want to give him a chance to destroy any evidence."

"What about Merriweather Seward?" Castle questions. "She's got to be in on Winston's operation."

"At the moment, that's still conjecture, Babe. Rachel didn't identify her as being involved, and we don't have any evidence against her. That may change with what I can get from Winston, but right now, I can't touch her, and talking to her again would tip her off."

"Chances are that if she's involved, Winston's already done that," Castle points out.

"Probably," Kate agrees, "but hopefully she'll believe that they both pulled the wool over our eyes and that she can do it again."

"She was convincing when she sent us to the Marriott," Castle admits. "But, come to think of it, that hotel is too nice to fit in with the usual narratives in my stories. My readers love to picture the seedy joints they see in film noir."

"I'm willing to bet they'd rather picture them than smell them," Kate quips. 'Ugh! And eww, what is in your sandwich?"

"I've been trying to figure that out. It's supposed to be turkey, ham, and bacon, but other than fatty slivers derived from some unfortunate animal, I have no idea what anything is. I was considering ditching it and going back to the hot dog vendor. What do you think?"

"That I could go for extra sauerkraut."

"I'm sure that could be arranged."

* * *

"So how did Badcock's trial go this morning?" Kate asks as she and Rick find a bench to consume their piled-high franks.

"Toni was great. You remember Chief Morris from Sid Morehouse's farm? She asked the right questions to have him make the case that Badcock knew he was committing crimes. I think we stand a chance of seeing cell doors clang on that assh*le. Could I send Gonzales flowers, or would it be considered a bribe?"

"I think it would look better if you wait until the trial is over, but you might want to rethink flowers anyway. The word in the bullpen is that if you want to stay on her good side, she likes jelly beans."

"Hmm, maybe she loves Easter, or her parents were Ronald Reagan fans. Either way, I will keep that in mind. I've given Alexis enough booty in the name of the bunny over the years to have an excellent source for the highest quality and most colorful assortments of springtime sweetness."

Kate flutters her eyelashes and circles her lips with her tongue as Castle takes a bite of his hot dog. "I wouldn't doubt that for a second."

Castle struggles to swallow before defensively veering back to police business. "So when are you planning to inflict your search team on Winston Seward?"

"Judge Markway is supposed to be in his chambers about the same time your trial reconvenes. If I can get him to sign on the bottom line, I'll get the operation going as soon as I can. With any luck, I could have something by the time Judge Mencas adjourns for the day. I'll text you."

"I will await your missives with bated breath. And tell Markway that I heard that some weird algae infested the water trap at The Point in the Bronx and the place stinks to high heaven. He should stick to playing the Pelham Course for a while."

Kate swipes a smidgen of pickle relish from Castle's lower lip. "Thanks, Babe. I'm sure he'll appreciate the tip."


	53. Chapter 53

Poison Pen

Chapter 53

"You can't do this!" Winston protests.

Kate holds up her warrant. "This says we can. You've already lied to me, Mr. Seward. An innocent man would have no reason to do that. Obstructing an investigation by lying to a cop is a crime in itself. Don't make things worse for yourself." Kate yanks on a file drawer that won't budge. "I'll need a key for this."

Winston grudgingly reaches into his pocket. "Here."

Metal groans as Kate slides the heavy drawer open, revealing a file marked "Gamal." She snaps a picture before removing the file and opening it. "You exported more than scrap metal, Mr. Seward. Where did you get a mummy?"

Seward crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I want a lawyer."

Kate nods. "You'd better get a good one."

* * *

"I ordered Thai, Dad," Alexis announces as Castle lets himself into the loft. "Gram's at the theater, and Kate called to say she'd be late. She said she texted you."

"She did," Castle acknowledges. "She was finishing up a couple of searches. I wish I could have gone with her."

"She said she was taking a bunch of pictures, and she can give you a list of what she found when she gets home."

"Gets home, I like the sound of that." Castle smiles as he sheds his suit jacket. "When is our delivery due to arrive?"

"They said 45 minutes 15 minutes ago."

"Sounds good. It gives me time to get some notes onto my computer. I may be adding a new section to my special project."

"You want me to pull out my red pencil?" Alexis offers.

"Not yet. What I'm doing is still in the formative stages, but I'll welcome your editorial input when the time comes."

Castle sinks into his desk chair, puts his feet up, and balances his laptop across his thighs. Examining his latest additions to the notebook he pulls from his shirt pocket, he considers his possibilities. He'd intended the book to be a double story of the defeat of killers through their own written words. The tale of the ledger listing Lockwood's and Coonan's kills will still be the jumping-off point for the first part. Badcock's obsession and manifesto will bookend it. But if Abdamalek is nailed for Will Medina's murder by his own records, that story could become an interesting vignette for the middle. Alternatively, he could stick some version of it in a Nikki Heat novel. He'll have to see what comes of Kate's efforts. In the meantime, he can create some interesting prose based on the day's courtroom proceedings.

After typing for a few minutes, Rick hears the front door opening and snaps his computer shut. That has to be Kate. As much as he loves Thai food, he didn't give the restaurant a key."

Rick can see an emerald glint in his fiancée's eyes from across the room and opens his arms. "You scored!"

Kate plunges into his enthusiastic grasp before stretching up for a kiss. "More than I thought. More than either one of us thought. We found orders and manifests of buys from Medina and Rachel and shipments to Egypt. Winston just threw the artifacts in with his scrap metal, and Adom Gamal bought whole container loads. They were transported to a foundry he owns. But we already suspected the stolen relics would be going to Gamal."

"You sound like a TV pitchman holding back to give me a 'But wait; there's more!'" Castle complains.

Kate wraps her arms around him, happily digging her fingers into the firm muscle above his thighs. "There is more. Winston wasn't in charge of the smuggling operation. I found notes all over Winston's documents with comments and instructions, all signed, 'Merri.' It won't take long for a handwriting expert to confirm that Merriweather Seward wrote them. I had unis bring her in, and I processed her before I came home. She can cool her heels in a holding cell overnight."

"Alexis has food coming, but I believe your victory calls for Champagne," Castle declares.

"It's your victory too, Babe, but I could do with some bubbly. Is there anything to celebrate with Badcock's case? How did Toni do this afternoon?"

"Not too bad, as far as I could tell. She brought in the evidence of Badcock buying toxin and delivering the poisoned pastries and made it all sound as deliberate and uncrazy as she could, but I could see the jury losing focus. Some of the members looked pretty sleepy by the time Mencas adjourned. I'm willing to bet that Gonzales noticed that too, and will try to finish up as quickly as possible. Then Kirby can bring on his shrink. It will probably be Welborn again. I'm going to try to see how the jury reacts to whatever he says."

"Juries can be hard to read. Some people make a career of it."

"I know. A while back, I researched some of the consultants specializing in jury analysis. I was thinking of creating a character in that line of work, but I couldn't fit one into the Storm universe. So far, I don't see a place for one in the Heat world either, except as a murderer, or better still a murder victim. There's a TV psychologist who used to sell his skills at reading trial tea leaves. He's obnoxious enough for my readers to enjoy his fictional demise. But that's for another book. Writing two at once is enough for now, especially while joining my partner in crime-busting. What's your strategy for leaning on the Sewards?"

"Divide and conquer, but I'm willing to bet that Winston is the weak link."

"That's my impression too. So when are you putting him in the box?"

"When is Mencas gaveling in tomorrow?"

"Ten again."

"That should work. I'll drop Winston's lawyer a line that we'll be starting at eight. That will give you some time to be in on the fun before you leave for court."

"Another reason for celebration. Shall I pop the cork now, or do you want to wait until the food arrives?"

"We can wait for the food to show up," Kate decides, "And do a little more intimate celebrating until it comes."

Rick's eyes dance beneath his rippling eyebrows. "I love the way you think."

* * *

"Given the appropriate conditions, my client has decided to cooperate," Vincent Shelby, attorney-at-law, announces as Kate and Castle enter the interrogation room.

"Counselor, if you've been practicing law for more than five minutes, you know that police don't dictate the conditions of a deal," Kate returns. "What you get depends on how much the D.A. likes what your client has to trade. But I can make recommendations based on how helpful Mr. Seward is to me."

"He can tell you who stole and received the merchandise," Shelby offers.

"We already know that. Try again," Kate advises.

"He can tell you who killed Will Medina."

"Does your client plan to confess?" Kate questions.

"I didn't kill Medina," Winston blurts out.

"You had a motive, Mr. Seward," Kate asserts. "Medina cheated you, or worse, cheated your buyer. That wouldn't do much for your business relationship."

"I wasn't the one who arranged the sales." Winston insists. "That was — someone else."

"Who?" Kate demands.

Winston's chair screams against the floor as he shoves himself back from the table. "Never mind. I can't do this. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Mr. Shelby, you might want to remind your client that if he's convicted of Will Medina's murder, he can go to prison for life," Kate suggests.

"Or, I'm guessing, the only real evidence you have on him is for smuggling artifacts, something the museum might like very much to keep quiet," Shelby responds.

"Or I have more than you assume," Kate bluffs. "I'll give Mr. Seward some time to think about just how willing he is to roll the dice."

"Kate, what just happened in there?" Rick asks as soon as they're clear of Interrogation. "Winston looked like he was going to cry or puke."

"He did," Kate agrees. "But the only reason I can see that he'd react that way is if the murderer is someone he cares about."

"His sister," Rick concludes.

Kate nods. "That's what I'm guessing. And I'll have to get it out of her."


	54. Chapter 54

Poison Pen

Chapter 54

Rick slams his fist into his palm. "Damn! I wish I could be here to watch you go after Merriweather."

"Me too," Kate agrees, but look, we have more than enough to charge her with conspiracy to commit theft and smuggling, at the very least. That means I'm not up against the 24-hour limit on holding her. She hasn't got a lawyer yet, either, and she asked for one. She might have been planning on using Shelby, like her brother, but from the look of things that would be a serious conflict of interest now. I can't see him taking the case. She'd have to find someone else. With all of that going on, I can put off tossing her on the grill for a while."

Rick grabs a heartfelt kiss. "Do you know how terrific you are?"

"You're free to tell me anytime."

Castle glances at his watch. "I'll give you a raincheck for chapter and verse. I need to get going. Maybe we can do lunch again. The bailiff said the Comfort Food Truck comes around sometimes. So do some of the other city's other mobile dispensers of culinary delights."

"OK, send me a text when Mencas calls a recess."

"My fingers will fly to the task."

* * *

Merri paces the tight confines of her cell. If Detective Beckett broke Winny, she would have charged Merri with a lot more than she did. So far, her brother must be holding out. But Merri knows Winny too well to believe that he'll be able to keep it together forever, especially without Merri to cheerlead. And Shelby turned her away. Screw him! But she'll still need an attorney and not one of those legal aid types. There's one, Mark Galegos, who has a fascination with ancient cultures, especially the bloodier ones, and comes to the society's fundraisers. She remembers the newspapers screaming about him getting a murderer off on a technicality not too long ago. He may be just the counsel she needs.

* * *

Rick is finding it difficult to concentrate. Toni Gonzales isn't presenting anything that he doesn't already know, and he'd rather be on the hunt with Kate. When Toni finally rests her case, Kirby announces that his principal witness won't be available until the next day, and suggests that Judge Mencas adjourn the trial until that time.

Clearly annoyed, Judge Mencas advises him to do a better job scheduling the defense but agrees to his request.

Grinning, Castle rubs his hands together as he exits the courtroom to head to the precinct. Unfortunately, he and Kate didn't connect for even a hurried lunch, but they'll have hours before dinner, and of course, the rest of the night.

* * *

Kate surveys a well-dressed figure stepping off the elevator. "Babe, do you know who that is?"

"From the handmade suit, $1000 shoes and $2000 briefcase, I'm guessing an expensive lawyer.

"It's Mark Galegos. He must be here for Merriweather Seward," Kate assumes. "She's the only suspect we're holding who can afford him, and it would even be a stretch for her."

"Is he that good?" Castle queries.

"He's more than good. You remember the Peterman case, the one where the actor got off because his lawyer brought body and stunt doubles into court and from a distance, the witness couldn't tell them from the suspect? That was Galegos. If there's any way Merri can slither out from under a murder charge, Galegos will find it."

"Then we will make damn sure there aren't any holes for Merriweather to slither through," Castle declares.

"Detective Beckett?" Galegos inquires, approaching Kate's desk. As Kate nods, the lawyer extends his hand. "Mark Galegos. I represent Merriweather Seward, and I understand you have her in custody.

As she peremptorily shakes hands with Galegos, Kate trades glances with Castle, who's attempting an encouraging smile. "Yes, Mr. Galegos, we have Ms. Seward."

"I'll need to consult with my client, without video or audio surveillance," Galegos asserts.

"Of course, Mr. Galegos," Kate agrees, her fingernails digging into her palms. "You can use the lounge. It doesn't have any microphones or cameras."

Galegos pulls out his phone and holds it up to display his scanning app. "I'll be assuring myself of that."

Kate waves him toward the lounge. "Feel free," Mr. Galegos.

"Unlike your client, Detective Beckett has nothing to hide," Castle adds through clenched teeth.

Kate signals to L.T. to retrieve Merri from holding while Galegos tests for recording devices.

"You were right about Galegos," Castle whispers to Kate. "He's going to play every angle he can."

Kate's teeth dig into her lower lip. "Then we'll have to find another one."

"What about Adom Gamal?" Castle wonders. "Wouldn't he be able to testify against Merri?"

"Castle, he's in Egypt. The U.S. has an extradition treaty with the government there, but they're not likely to make an effort to hand over a possible witness in a murder case, especially not a rich and connected one. And he received artifacts from this hemisphere,' Kate adds. "It only pisses off the Egyptians if the flow goes the other way."

"So perhaps we can convince Gamal to want to come to the U.S.," Castle speculates.

"How exactly are we going to do that?"

"We'll need some help. Gamal has an artifact addiction, but he's lost his pusher. He'll be desperate for another supplier, and a legal one would seem like manna from heaven."

Kate shakes her head. "Castle, what are you talking about? What legal supplier?"

"I have one in mind, but we need to have a little tête à tête with Stanford Oakes, and maybe even the whole museum board."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I told you, Kate. I'm a patron, an excellent patron. I wonder if Oakes would go for an early dinner at Tessa."

* * *

Oakes settles back in his chair at the upscale Mediterranean restaurant and takes an appreciative sip of his wine. "All right, Rick. I'm about as buttered up as that salmon we just ate. What's the proposition you were about to make?"

"Look, Stanford, Medina and Rachel's sale of the museum's genuine artifacts went unnoticed because they were just lying around forgotten in the basement, right?"

"We would have noticed, eventually," Stanford claims.

Rick shrugs. "Maybe. However, the museum is always looking for publicity. It could get a lot of it, and Kate and I could snag Medina's Egyptian buyer in the process. Announce an auction of rare objects from Central and South America that the museum lacks the space to display with the respect they deserve. Send out invitations to parties, including Adom Gamal, interested in the culture of that part of the world. I bet that the moment he hears about the sale, he'll be on the next plane to New York. Kate will get a chance to question him, and the museum might even make a few bucks. Besides that, pieces of history that might otherwise be forgotten will gain a new lease on life. You could even send notices to other museums, and give the public a cultural boost."

"It's an interesting idea, Rick," Stanford admits. "We have some board members who constantly complain that it's an insult to history to keep so much stuff in storage in the basement. You might have their votes. How soon would this auction have to take place?"

"Yesterday," Kate responds.

Stanford carefully folds his napkin beside his plate. "I'll see what I can do."


	55. Chapter 55

Poison Pen

Chapter 55

"Call your witness, Mr. Kirby," Judge Mencas orders.

"I call Dr. Hans Kanner."

Rick leans forward in his seat as Kanner is sworn in. He was expecting Wellborn but suspects that Kirby was less than happy with his previous witness' conclusions and decided to go for another opinion. No doubt, Kanner is prepared to come down on the side of Badcock's insanity plea. Kirby would be a lousy lawyer if he put up a witness who said anything else.

Castle listens with half an ear to Kanner's bona fides. Of course, they sound impressive, but Rick has met more than his share of "experts" with impressive-sounding credentials and no more expertise than a kindergartner trying to perform neurosurgery. As Rick suspected, Kanner paints Badcock as being so out of touch with reality as to be unable to distinguish right from wrong. On cross-examination, Toni Gonzales pokes as many holes in Kanner's testimony as she can, but from Rick's read of the jury, some of them are still accepting the shrink's evaluation.

After the defense rests, Gonzales informs the court that she intends to call a rebuttal witness. Castle lets out a deep breath as the judge grants Toni's request for a recess until the next day.

* * *

As Rick arrives in the bullpen, Kate looks up hopefully and points to stacks of paperwork. "Between Shelby and Galegos, if I don't document every iota of evidence against the Sewards and exactly how we obtained it, we could crash and burn in court, even on the theft and smuggling charges."

"How can I help?" Rick asks.

"By filling in details, but only the ones you witnessed; otherwise, it will give counsel an excuse to get whatever you describe suppressed."

Castle's chest expands beneath his suit jacket. "Details are my forte. They're what gives a story texture and believability."

"I know, Babe. You always do a great job with them in your books, but when you write those, you're free to make things up. Against these guys, it's strictly Joe Friday — just the facts."

"Just the facts, Ma'am," Rick mimics Jack Webb. "No names shall be changed to protect the innocent or the guilty."

* * *

Kate contentedly leans back in her desk chair and stretches her arms over her head. "Done, and it's just end of shift. Thanks, Babe. If you hadn't pitched in, I'd be here until midnight."

"It was in my self-interest. This way, I get to spend the evening with you. So, what's your pleasure? A movie marathon? Bridal blogs? Or," Rick's brows ripple above his eyes, "strip poker, a game impossible to lose."

Kate giggles. "That sounds like fun, but won't Alexis be around studying or something?"

"We can all have dinner together, but these days she's not about to breach the bedroom door without knocking. You and I can play cards on the bed. As we shed our wagers, we'll be in the right place at the right time."

"That does sound very convenient, and fair is fair. You dived into the paperwork. I can cook."

"Music to my rumbly tummy."

* * *

Castle examines the five cards in his hand. A flush — in more ways than one. He can feel the heat rising in his body as he contemplates watching Kate remove the last barrier from hers. "All in."

"Call."

Kate smiles as Rick lays down his cards. Locking her gaze with his, she slowly slides a silky thong down her legs until catching it in her toes, she tosses it aside. "You win."

"That happened the first moment I saw you, but the hits just keep coming."

"They'd come even faster if you weren't overdressed." She plunges her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers. "I can help you with that. Mmm. Someone is coming out to play."

"How about a new game?" Rick suggests.

"What game did you have in mind?"

"Hiding the cream stick."

"I have to find out if it's worth hiding. I'll need to taste it first."

Rick gasps, as Kate's mouth finds its target. "It's all yours."

* * *

Groaning as his cellphone chimes at sunrise, Rick reaches for it, barely opening his eyes. "Sorry for the early call, Castle," Stanford Oakes apologizes, "but I believe you'll want to hear what I have to say. I just got off the phone with a board member who's traveling in Egypt. He met with Adom Gamal, and our mark is over the moon at the idea of the auction. He's going to be arriving in New York in three days. We've put together events quickly, but it's going to be hell arranging one that fast. I was hoping that you could pitch in."

"Anything you need," Rick agrees, "but don't you have catering services on contract? I know some very fast talkers. You want me to find you an auctioneer?"

"No, thanks. One of our docents retired from the business. He'll understand the items we have for sale and do the work for free. But we have a few things the board thinks we should sell, that we haven't located yet. What I need is your detecting skills, and Kate's too, if she's available, to try to find them."

Rick sits straight up. "You mean I get to look around the museum's basement?"

"That is where the artifacts should be," Stanford confirms.

"I'll have to work around a court schedule but count me in. And I'll see if Kate's available."

"Great!" Stanford responds. "Talk to you later."

Kate pushes herself up on one elbow. "See if I'm available for what?"

"To search for hidden treasure."

"I'll have to ask Montgomery, but if it helps us close Will Medina's murder, he should be all for it. What time is it?"

"A little past five. You want to try to go back to sleep?"

"I don't think I can, but a nice long shower would be terrific. You want to join me?"

"Can't think of much I'd rather do."

* * *

"Call your rebuttal witness, Ms. Gonzalez," Judge Mencas orders, as Castle looks on.

"I call Dr. Manley Welborn."

"Dr. Welborn," Gonzales asks after her witness is sworn in, "you hold both an M.D. and a Ph.D. in psychology, do you not?"

"I do," Wellborn confirms.

"And did you testify in a hearing in this court that Mr. Badcock is competent to stand trial?"

"I did."

"And your testimony was based on extensive testing of Mr. Badcock?"

"It was, as well as Mr. Badcock's manifesto, which required considerable cognitive skills to create."

"During your time with Mr. Badcock, did you find him capable of understanding what he hears and reads? To enlarge on that, Mr. Badcock is familiar with a great many books, is he not?"

"He is."

"And did those books include murder mysteries such as those written by Connor O'Donnell and Richard Castle?"

"They did."

"So, is he capable of reading and understanding books in which murderers are pursued for breaking the law?"

"He is."

"And did he communicate how he felt about those books?"

"He wrote about them in his manifesto. He objected to the way in which they were written; their literary content."

"At any time, either verbally or in writing did Mr. Badcock express the opinion that those murderers did nothing wrong and should not be punished?"

"Not at all. His objections were based purely on what he perceived as the lack of skill of the writers. He also expressed disgust that the reading public would buy the books in question."

"So to reiterate, do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Badcock is or was incapable of understanding that murdering or attempting to murder another human being is wrong?"

"I do not, Ms. Gonzales."

For one of the few moments of the trial, Toni smiles. "Thank you, Dr. Wellborn. Your testimony has been very helpful."


	56. Chapter 56

Poison Pen

Chapter 56

"How did the trial go today?" Kate asks as Rick drops into his chair next to her desk.

"Well, I think. It looked like Gonzales got what she needed, and it's obvious that Judge Mencas is hurrying things along. I looked her up. She clerked for a judge in the Eastern District of Virginia. Apparently, things move along there."

Kate smiles as she nods. "Right. I remember my parents referring to it as 'The Rocket Docket.' Cases that would typically take weeks, or longer, fly through there in a few days."

"Mencas appears to be emulating that example," Rick surmises. "Anyway, Gonzales gave her closing argument, and Kirby gave his. Gonzales will get the last word tomorrow, and then the decision will be up to the jury. I think that if Gonzales doesn't take too long, we could spend tomorrow afternoon in the until-now-forbidden reaches of the museum basement. Did you talk to Montgomery about our quest?"

"Yeah. He thinks it's a crazy scheme, but he's had collars go bad because of Galegos, so if we can help the D.A. kick the counselor's ass, he's all for it."

"Great! Are the Sewards still here?"

"Transferred to Rikers. I got the report from the handwriting expert, Jillian Norton, on the notations on Winston Seward's paperwork. In her opinion, Merriweather was the writer. She also said she thinks the relationship between the two is pretty much as we figured. Merri is a dominant personality. Winston is submissive."

Castle chortles. "That sounds like a porn book, but nothing I've read. I'm not into incest."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Good to know."

Castle checks his watch. "Are you ready to go? It's about time."

"Sure. Planning any dinnertime surprises tonight?"

"If I told you, they wouldn't be surprises. But I checked with Eduardo. A shipment I was expecting came in today, and he took it up to the loft. I think you'll enjoy it, especially if we make a quick stop at the fruit stand on the way home."

Kate runs her fingertips over his darkening jawline. "I'm intrigued."

Rick arches a brow. "Good. This is going to be fun."

* * *

"Strawberries, Babe?" Kate inquires as Rick hands his money to the vendor. "Did you order some upscale shake maker?"

"Better," Rick assures her. "You'll see."

* * *

As soon as he and Kate arrive at the loft, Castle puts his most recent purchase on the counter, and tears open the package already lying there. Kate checks the label. "Enrobing chocolate?" she asks as a strange and mildly obscene image flits through her brain. "What are we going to enrobe?"

Castle points to their newly acquired fruit. "Anything you like, but I thought we'd start with these. I caught the longing looks you were giving the chocolate covered strawberries that Ryan bought for Jenny, and he could only afford six of them, impressive as they were. We could easily make a dozen or more. A double boiler, a little patience, and nirvana. Alexis is going to a French farce dinner with her club from school this evening, but if we're feeling generous, we might even save her a couple."

"I'm not sure I'm that magnanimous," Kate confesses.

Castle shrugs. "I bought plenty of chocolate. She can always make her own."

* * *

Rick dangles a darkly coated berry over Kate's mouth as she lounges on the bed. "This is the last one."

"What if I'm still hungry after I finish it?"

Rick pops it in her mouth. "Then I suppose I'll have to find another way to sate your desires."

Red juice colors Kate's lips. "We can start with this." Chocolate and love flavor the kiss she presses to his lips. With their clothes suddenly becoming too warm for the growing heat of their bodies; the floor receives garments that will be retrieved later, much later. Bed coverings mangle as they thrash, desperate for more intensity, deeper contact.

As they roll, Kate straddles Rick's hips, madly posting above him. Her head falls back, her hair brushing his thighs as he caresses her breasts. Their lips collide in wild urgency, tongues thrusting and twining. Kate can feel the sensation for which she has no words, growing and spreading from the inside out. A tsunami of waves overcomes her, the pressure bringing Rick to simultaneous release. Sweetly exhausted, they fall together into the cradle of night.

* * *

Kate waves as Rick enters the lobby of the museum. "That didn't take long."

"No, it didn't. Gonzales got right to the point. I don't know about the jury, though. Some of them looked confused by Mencas' instructions. It could take a while to get a verdict."

"Kirby's probably hoping at least one jury member will go along with the insanity plea, but from what I've heard, Mencas doesn't like hung juries. If there's any hope of reaching a verdict, she'll make them keep at it. Anyway, I asked Toni to send me an alert when there's a decision. Whenever it is, I'll let you know."

Castle leans in for a quick kiss. "Thanks, Kate. You're the best. I will have, however, the finest of distractions. Are you ready to descend into the caverns of hidden delights?"

"As long as no giant boulders come rolling at us."

"I don't think we'll have to worry about that, but there may be some 2,000-year-old dust."

"What are we looking for?" Kate asks, skeptically surveying vast rows of shelves, cabinets, and crates.

"Apparently, Gamal has a thing for the jaguar god of the Mayans. He inhabited the underworld. The Mayans made masks of him." Rick pulls out his phone. "Here are some images that Stanford sent me. Jaguars are hot items. In the case of the Tiwanaku, that's literal. The museum has some jaguar incense burners it's ready to sell off. And there are a bunch of objects made out of lapis lazuli it wants to put up for sale as well."

"So, we're looking for jaguars and blue stuff." Kate summarizes.

"Right," Castle agrees, "but there's going to be so much more that will be cool."

"Babe, you're like a kid on a first visit to F.A.O. Schwartz. You want to see everything, but we're going to have to concentrate and figure out some plan. Things must be arranged by era or civilization or something."

"The way I understand it, originally by civilization and by find, but things were taken upstairs from time to time and not always put back in place. We should probably start with the Mayans. Once we find the jaguar masks, we'll have at least one major draw, and we can move on from there. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to keep my eyes open for amazing ancient wonders."

Kate taps her fist against his bicep. "Of course you are."

* * *

Castle gazes thoughtfully into space in the museum cafeteria. "Do you think I should trade my Ferrari in for a Jaguar? The masks we found were incredible. Ancient civilizations seemed to think a lot of that cat."

"Ancient civilizations that all fell," Kate points out. "I've only known a couple of people who drove Jaguars, but they both practically had to keep a mechanic on retainer."

"You have a point," Castle agrees. "Not that a Ferrari is exactly cheap to maintain, either." He reaches across the table to flick a speck of dust from Kate's cheek. "And I no longer need a vehicular attractant for the opposite sex, unless the Ferrari turns you on."

"I like driving it, but," Kate strokes his thigh under the table, "I like having things revved up and ready to go beneath me. And I have lots of ways to keep the engine running."

Castle coughs and reaches for his bottle of water. "About that, my bride-to-be, I have no doubt."


	57. Chapter 57

Poison Pen

Chapter 57

As her cellphone buzzes, Kate looks up from a drawer of small carved animals. The text from Toni Gonzales is only a few words, but it's enough. The jury is coming back. Castle quirks a questioning eyebrow, and Kate nods. "There may be a verdict. You want me to go with you? I'm not finding anything else that Stanford asked for anyway."

Rick reaches out for her hand. "Please."

"Looks like we're just in time," Kate whispers as she and Rick arrive in court. While they stand behind the back row of seats, the bailiff takes the document bearing the jury's decision from the forewoman and hands it to the judge.

Mencas quickly scans the contents before giving it to the bailiff to return. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor," the forewoman confirms.

"How say you?"

Kate interlaces her fingers with Rick's as the forewoman reads each charge and declares Badcock guilty.

"So say you one, so say you all?" the judge queries, receiving instant affirmation from the jury.

"I ask that the jury be polled," Kirby requests as Badcock stares defiantly at the people who condemned him.

Castle holds his breath, waiting for the answers. While some of the voices tremble, the jurors pronounce their responses with surety, even as Badcock's eyes blaze."

Mencas quickly thanks the jury for its service and sets a date for sentencing. "Someday you'll burn in hell on a pyre of your books," Badcock shouts at Rick as uniformed officers lead him out of the courtroom.

Castle's eyes glint icy blue. "I'll see you there first."

Kate can feel the stiffness in Castle's body as they leave the courthouse, and she steers him toward the bench where they enjoyed their hotdogs. "That's it, Babe. It's what you wanted."

"I guess. Somehow, it doesn't seem to be enough. Putting Badcock in prison won't bring Connor back, or the other Poe winners we couldn't prove he killed. And he may not be legally insane, but he's sick or just plain evil. I find it hard to imagine how a loving God puts people like Badcock, Lockwood, Coonan, Bracken, or Springer on this earth. It just bewilders me."

Kate leans her head on Rick's shoulder. "That makes two of us, but at least none of those men will be able to do any more harm. That's the best we can hope for. You want to go back to the museum?"

"No, what we found for Stanford already, should do the trick, and I can't work up much fascination for exploring ancient mysteries right now. Let's just walk for a while. I want to see regular people doing ordinary things."

"Sure, Babe, whatever you need."

* * *

Kate surveys the artifacts for sale set up in cases and on pedestals in the front of the large hall. The potential buyers are at tables covered in snowy linen cloths while servers circulate, offering appetizers and directing guests to the bar. "This is good," she judges, taking a sip from a glass of Riesling Rick brings to her. "But the museum could be running up quite a bill for wine."

"It's donated," Castle explains. "It's from a winery upstate that wants to get its name in front of the disposable income crowd. There's a nice blurb on the back cover of the program. The museum should make out fine on this little soirée. I hope we do as well. I haven't spotted Adom Gamal yet."

Kate inclines her head toward the main entrance to the hall. "Isn't that him coming in with Oakes, now?"

"It is. Stanford should be leading Gamal over here so you can charm him. That way, you can collar him later without making a scene. The museum wants to keep everything as neat and tidy as possible. Personally, I think a little publicity about stolen artifacts could bring in the crowds, but the board can be pretty conservative."

"Which explains why you're not on it," Kate teases.

"The reason I'm not on it is that the museum receives my largesse on the proviso that I don't have to sit through meetings where people find all their adventure on spreadsheets. I'd rather count dinosaur bones than beans — except for magic ones."

"Number crunching aside, this place is good for you," Kate asserts. "This is the first time I've seen fire in your eyes since Badcock's trial. Oh, here comes Stanford with Gamal."

"Let the games begin," Castle whispers.

Kate sets her mouth in a welcoming smile as Stanford introduces her as Richard Castle's intended, Kate Beckett. For now, her badge can stay beneath the frilly garter hidden by her gown.

Stanford Oakes ascends the steps of a portable stage and takes his place behind a podium. "Ladies and Gentlemen, you are here on an extraordinary night. This auction is a once in a lifetime event. The items offered by the museum are both rare and beautiful. I will also remind you that every dollar you bid will go toward the museum's mission of giving the public a chance to see and experience the richness of histories that would otherwise be beyond its reach. So, without further ado, allow me to introduce a man who is generously giving of his time and talents, our auctioneer, Mr. Anton Pickering."

Pickering's shock of white hair and walrus mustache contrast with his spotless and perfectly fitted tuxedo. He signals to a young woman in a sleek gown to bring him the first item up for sale. "Some of the best things come in small packages, " he informs the audience. "We have here a lapis lazuli puma carving. The gem may be semi-precious, but the archeological worth of this figurine is immeasurable. Who will start the bidding at $1000?"

Castle takes a gulp of wine as he watches Gamal's admiring glances flick between Kate and the objects displayed onstage. It could be a long night.

* * *

"Now for the _pièce de résistance_," Pickering announces. "We have a Mayan jaguar mask. As you can see, the condition is excellent. You can clearly make out the lines of the muzzle, the flared nostrils, the scrolled eyebrows, and the pointed teeth. The carver was a masterful artisan. We'll start the bidding at $50,000." Gamal raises his hand, and Pickering encourages spirited bidding around the room until Gamal eventually triumphs. "Congratulations to bidder #1 on the acquisition of a truly rare and exquisite piece of art. Now on behalf of the museum, I bid you eat drink and be merry, but not too merry to remember to write your checks.

Kate leans in toward Gamal, nodding at Castle to be ready to block the enthusiastic collector's exit. "I would like to offer my congratulations as well. It isn't often that a man can acquire incredible art like that — legitimately." Kate reveals the badge now hiding in her hand. "We need to have a little talk about some other pieces of art whose provenance may not be quite as well documented. I'm sure Mr. Oakes will allow us to use his office unless you'd rather discuss the matter at the 12th Precinct."

Gamal pushes away from the table. "Mr. Oakes' office will be fine, but I intend to leave this country with my purchases, Kate."

"Detective Beckett," she corrects, "and whether you can do that or not will depend entirely on your cooperation in the investigation of the murder of William Medina."


	58. Chapter 58

Poison Pen

Chapter 58

Kate points Gamal to a chair around a table in Oakes' office, taking one opposite the Egyptian and next to Castle. "I'll get right to the point, Mr. Gamal. We have records indicating that your foundry received shipments of scrap metal from Seward Salvage. Those shipments contained artifacts either stolen from the museum or fraudulently produced by Will Medina and Rachel Walters. We know that you were acquainted with Will Medina and you financed one of his digs. Will Medina was murdered after one of his artifacts was discovered to be fake. But the N.Y.P.D. doesn't employ me to worry about trade in antiquities. I'm a homicide cop. My interest is in identifying Will Medina's murderer and developing enough evidence to make sure the killer is punished. I believe that you, Mr. Gamal, are a key to both determining who killed Will Medina and proving it."

"Detective Beckett, I haven't even been in the United States for months. How could I possibly know who killed Medina?" Gamal protests.

"Were you aware that an artifact you were slated to receive was faked?" Kate asks.

"I might have been," Gamal dodges.

"All right, Mr. Gamal. Hypothetically, for the moment, if you were aware, what would you have done about it?" Kate continues.

"Canceled payment."

"A substantial payment?" Castle inquires.

"Indeed," Gamal agrees. "And I would have sought another source of supply."

"Meaning that revenues to your existing supplier would suffer severely." Castle assumes.

"If such a thing took place, I would assume that to be the case," Gamal replies.

"One more thing, Mr. Gamal," Kate inserts, "If you were in the market for a particular artifact, how would you ensure that your supplier could identify precisely the right item?"

"I would submit an extremely detailed description."

"So, the individual involved in providing you with the treasures you seek would need a firm understanding of archaeology?" Castle queries.

"If such a situation ever came to pass," Gamal offers, "a thorough grounding in archaeology would be essential."

"Grounding, for example, with the sort of knowledge someone involved with the Archaeological Society might have?" Kate proposes.

"Detective Beckett," Gamal returns, "if I was ever interested in such a transaction, that is the type of agent I would require. Now, if there is nothing further, I would like to get some rest this evening. It is considerably later in Egypt, and I have not yet adjusted to local time."

"Of course, Mr. Gamal," Kate concedes. "In case I have further questions, where will you be staying?"

"I'm at the Renaissance, but I don't expect to stay long," Gamal asserts. "As soon as I can make arrangements with the museum for the proper crating and shipping of my purchases, I'll be returning to Egypt."

Rick smiles across the table. "If I were you, I'd extend my reservation. The museum may find that it has extensive paperwork to do before it can release your items. The wait may continue through the time it will take for Detective Beckett to satisfy herself that your 'hypotheticals' are accurate and sufficient to wrap up Will Medina's case."

* * *

The park surrounding the museum is almost empty, and quiet except for the yip of a night-walked Pomeranian. Winding down, Rick and Kate stroll hand in hand down the paths through the grass and trees. As the breeze picks up, Kate snuggles against Rick. "I really like this park. It's small enough so that people won't miss meeting up and big enough for gatherings."

"What kind of gatherings did you have in mind?" Rick queries.

"I was wondering about it as a wedding venue," Kate confesses. "It's right on top of a subway stop, so transportation wouldn't be a problem for carless guests. The museum was so great at setting up the auction, a reception there would be incredible. And if it rains on the ceremony, we could retreat inside. What do you think?"

"I think you're a genius! Out of town visitors could explore the museum and Central Park, and there are plenty of nearby hotels and restaurants. We could even arrange tours of the city. We should talk to the administrative powers that be, in the morning."

"Right after we lean on Winston Seward," Kate decides.

"Are you going to drop it on him that we talked to Gamal?" Castle asks. "Gamal didn't tell us that much that we didn't know already. He just confirmed that Merri was in charge. And you really think he's still going to be around to testify?"

"Probably not," Kate admits, "but after what I got from Jillian Norton about Winston and Merriweather, I think I can go at him in a way to make him flip on her. I'll get him brought in from Rikers, and I'll need to go into the box with him and his lawyer, by myself. But you can watch."

Castle hugs Kate to his side. "I'm going to need popcorn."

* * *

Kate checks herself in the mirror of the ladies' room at the 12th Precinct. Her heels are even higher than her usual preference. Black leather pants hug her legs, and her breasts surge hard against the confines of her leather jacket. She secures her hair in a tight bun, emphasizing her cheekbones and increasing the severity of her look. Kate half wishes that she had a riding crop, but she'd never get it past Winston's bulldog lawyer Shelby, or Montgomery. She smiles to herself as she wonders what Rick's reaction would be. He's no submissive, but he does love having her on top.

Rick almost spills the popcorn from his bowl as Kate strides into Interrogation and sidles as close as he can against the observation window without fogging the glass. Kate slams a thick folder on the table. "Mr. Seward, according to my source, you have been a very bad boy."

"Don't say anything," Shelby counsels as Winston squirms in his seat.

Kate flashes the attorney a smug look. "Mr. Seward doesn't need to say anything, Mr. Shelby, but you'd both better listen. Last night I had a fascinating conversation with a visitor to our shores from Egypt." Moisture dampens Winston's forehead. "I imagine Winston knows exactly who I mean. The discussion turned to just what it would take for my source to purchase rare and valuable objects, say Pre-Columbian, of the sort dealt in by Will Medina. If a jury were to hear what my informant told me, they could easily connect his story with the data from Mr. Seward's records. Any Joe Blow off the street could see it was Winston who had the motive to kill Will Medina. Who else could possibly fit that bill?" Winston cowers in his chair as Kate leans over him. "You're going down for Medina's murder, Winston, all by yourself, unless you start talking now."

"Don't!" Shelby warns as Winston shrinks beneath Kate's stare.

"I had nothing to do with the murder!" Winston protests. "I just did what Merri told me to. I packed the artifacts so they'd survive shipment with my regular loads and made sure the crates were blocked by metal. I played Abdamalek, but Merri handled everything else. She knew all about the artifacts, and she dealt with Gamal about the prices. When she told me he refused to buy an artifact because a lab told him it was fake, I've never seen her so mad. She screamed that there was no way we would ever be cheated like that again."

"When was that?" Kate asks.

"The day before Will Medina was killed. But I swear, I had no idea that she was going to do anything to him."

"How do you know she did?" Kate asks.

"Because there was a crowbar missing from my shop. She's the only one except me that has keys. She might still have it. She never throws anything away. Can I use the men's room? I really need to go."

Kate nods. "I'll have an officer take you."


	59. Chapter 59

Poison Pen

Chapter 59

Using a bolt cutter, Kate clips the lock on Merriweather Seward's storage locker. Castle lifts the metal door and gazes around. "Winston was right. Merri is quite a packrat. Well, she is into archaeology. Maybe she figures that in a few thousand years someone will dig up all this junk and it will be worth a fortune."

"Right now, what we need to dig up is something worth a conviction," Kate points out. "It hasn't been long since Merri murdered Medina. If she put the crowbar in here, it can't be buried too deep. We can start on opposite ends and work toward the middle."

Rick flashes a grin. "Mmm. That sounds sexy."

"It will be, if we nail Merri Seward."

After rummaging for a few minutes, Rick spots a metal point sticking out of a box. "Kate, I think I found something."

"Don't touch it, Babe. I need to take a picture of it in place, surrounded by all of Merri's other crap." Kate carefully frames and captures an image of where Castle points, before pulling on the metal with gloved hands. "Yeah, it's a crowbar."

"And it looks like it has a little stone dust on it," Castle notes. "You'd think she would have at least cleaned it before putting it away."

"Good thing she didn't," Kate responds. "CSU can check for fingerprints and match that dust to the gargoyle. This could be just what we need to prove Merriweather Seward killed Medina."

"On the roof with a crowbar," Castle quips. "Great, we can drop that by the lab and make our inquiries at the museum. I'll call ahead on the way."

* * *

Special Events Coordinator, Mary Lou Monahan, waves Kate and Rick into dark wood chairs in front of her desk. "The idea the two of you had for the auction worked out quite well both in terms of revenue and mostly positive publicity."

"Mostly positive?" Castle repeats.

"The Mayan activist, Cacaw Te, put out a social media blitz demanding that any Mayan artifacts be returned to his people," Mary Lou explains. "He has no standing in the matter, of course. At one time or another, the museum obtained clearance from whatever governments were in power, to acquire whatever Mayan relics we have. Cacaw Te holds no official position and isn't recognized to speak for any particular group."

"But doesn't he have a point?" Castle wonders. "As much as I enjoy archaeological adventures, many objects are recovered as a result of grave robbery."

"From cultures that have been gone for 2000 years," Mary Lou points out. "Can you imagine if someone turned up claiming to be a descendant of Jesus' brother and demanded the Shroud of Turin? How could anyone verify a claim like that? That being said, if Cacaw Te or anyone with similar assertions can come up with proof or at least a reasonable story, the museum is willing to listen. An indefinite loan to repatriate some artifacts, or turning them over completely would be possible. We've done it before."

Castle nods. "Good to know. What about the mask and the pieces that were sold last night?"

"From what Stanford said, when we put together the auction listings, most of them were retrieved from the water just offshore of the Island of the Sun. No grave robbing necessary. They came in on the current, so their origin can't be tied to a specific location. The jaguar wasn't a death mask. It came from a Canadian expedition that uncovered a collection of them in Guatemala. At one point, they were used as a symbol of rank by the leadership there, together with jaguar skins. Unless Cacaw Te is of that lineage, he would have no entitlement to it."

Castle claps his hands together. "So there is no stain on the museum's escutcheon, or at least not a recent one. That makes me feel more comfortable about my request. My lovely bride and I would like to get married on the museum grounds and hold the reception here."

Mary Lou looks at Kate. "When are you getting married?"

"We were thinking about the first or second Saturday or Sunday in May."

"That would be an extremely busy time for us," Mary Lou claims, her lips thinning. "You could, however, get married after the museum closes for the day. We get everyone out at 5:45. In May, you'd still have several hours of sunlight after that. If you hold your ceremony around seven, we'd have time to set up a hall for the reception. Which hall would you like? The Hall of Gems is so lovely, but the Grand Gallery has the most space."

Kate glances at Castle, a smile twitching on her lips. "If I know you, Babe, you want to hold it in Space Center."

"And come in on the Cosmic Pathway? Of course, I mean unless we did it in Fossil Hall. That would be mega-cool too. But you're the bride. What do you want?"

Kate sucks on the tip of her finger. "I'd love the Hall of Ocean Life. It would be like swimming with dolphins. I've always wanted to do that."

"I have too," Rick admits, turning back to Mary Lou. "Could you manage that hall?"

Mary Lou taps a few keys on her computer. "I don't see why not. The second Sunday in May is Mother's Day, and we already have an event, so the first or second Saturday or the first Sunday would work."

Raising an eyebrow, Rick turns back to Kate. "The first Sunday," she decides.

"The first Sunday it will be," Castle agrees.

* * *

"We should celebrate," Rick suggests as he and Kate stroll through the park again before heading downtown. "We uncovered a great clue and booked our dream wedding venue all in one day."

"I have to write up a report on finding the crowbar," Kate reminds him, "but after that, what did you have in mind?"

"We haven't talked about our menu for the reception yet. Up for a little experimentation on a confection to enthrall our guests and launch us on the path to wedded bliss? We could drop in on Sweet Madness."

"That place where you can order all those tiny plates with one bite of cake on them?"

"Uh-huh," Castle confirms. "Alexis went to a birthday party there once. She loved everything so much she nearly went into sugar shock. She didn't even need ice cream. We can explore what flavors we like together most and order a wedding cake that embraces them."

"That's a great idea, Castle, but shouldn't we eat something with actual nutrition in it before we go, so we don't go into sugar shock ourselves?"

"Kate, you're taking the fun out of it," Castle complains, "but there's a vegan place next door. We can make our sacrifices to the vitamin gods before pursuing our pastry pleasures."

"You're on," Kate agrees.

* * *

Kate rolls the taste of dark chocolate melded with raspberry on her tongue. This is incredible! What do you think?"

Castle forks a small bite from her plate and closes his eyes as he savors the fruity richness. "Wonderful. Too evil for this world."

"That may be the problem," Kate mulls. "My cousin Sophia is allergic to chocolate, and if she's not in the wedding party, my Aunt Theresa will never forgive me."

"I don't remember you mentioning an Aunt Theresa or a Cousin Sophia before."

"Yeah, right," Kate admits. "Since there's such a mystery about your father and all, I didn't feel that comfortable talking about my family."

"Kate, they're your family, part of you. That gives them an in with me. But it's no problem. We can have different layers, or if Sophia's super allergic, two different cakes."

"Castle, sometimes I forget just how sweet you can be."

"Then I'll just have to keep reminding you."


	60. Chapter 60

Poison Pen

Chapter 60

Sleepily, Kate reaches out to Rick as he slips into bed. "You've been up most of the night. What were you doing?"

"Another rewrite on 'Poison Pen.' I was shifting the focus to emphasize the impact of the written word more strongly."

"Did you finish it?"

"Yeah, I think I did. It makes the point now without sacrificing the stories."

"Black Pawn should be happy."

"I decided not to send it to Black Pawn. They have the first refusal of my detective and spy novels, but this is a literary work. I want a more serious imprint, so I'll have Paula shop it around."

"Well, good luck and get some sleep. The Sewards are being sentenced tomorrow — today now. You want to go, don't you?"

Rick wraps himself around Kate, nuzzling her hair. "Wouldn't miss it."

* * *

"Wow!" Castle exclaims, bounding down the courthouse steps. "Did you see the look on Merri's face? I don't know who she wanted to kill more, the judge or her brother."

"My money would be on killing Winston," Kate offers. "I'm not sure we could have nailed her if he hadn't told us about the crowbar. The forensics really cinched the case."

"Uh-huh. It would be fun to write about a forensic scientist, but I think between Bones and all the CSI spin-offs, that franchise is pretty well sewn up. That reminds me. I want to check and see if Paula's had any nibbles yet."

"This soon? You only emailed her the book a few hours ago."

"That woman does not let any grass grow under her designer pumps. She may have pushed her way into Haven, Bradford, and Frost already. They handle some of the literary heavyweights. If they take the book, I'll be playing with the big boys."

"Anything?" Kate asks as Rick scrolls through his texts.

"Let's go sit on our bench. Paula wants me to call her."

Rick thumbs the speaker button, but adjusts the volume on his phone down so passing pedestrians can't hear it. Paula picks up on the first ring. "Ricky! It's about time! Listen, I'm meeting with HBF tomorrow at nine, and they want you there to make sure you're serious. The only excuse I'll accept for you not showing up is death, meaning that I'll kill you myself."

"And there would go your 15%," Rick teases. "I'll be there."

"You better be," Paula warns.

"Except for the part about your agent killing you, that sounded promising," Kate remarks.

"It did," Rick agrees, "but I haven't been this nervous about a business meeting since Black Pawn picked up 'In a Hail of Bullets.'"

"Do you want me to hold your hand?" Kate offers.

"Always," Rick responds, entwining his fingers with hers, "but also, the dry cleaner messed up my lucky tie. Can you help me pick out a new one?"

Kate kisses the tip of his nose. "Sure, I'd be happy to."

* * *

Castle braces himself under the gaze of Wilhelmina Haven, granddaughter of the company's founder, William Haven. "Mr. Castle, I admit that I was skeptical when Ms. Haas approached us, especially given the title of your book. Your previous work would hardly have been a fit with HBF."

Rick resists the urge to pull at his collar. "I'm aware of HBF's literary niche."

"However," Haven continues, "when our gatekeeper passed on a sample chapter of Poison Pen to me, I was pleasantly surprised. I believe that your book could do quite well with our readers. You also have the name recognition to bring in new ones. I would expect you, however, to work with one of our editors on revisions that will help you better fit our brand."

"As long as I have final approval before it goes to press," Castle declares. "I'm the one the readers will hold responsible for the book, for better or worse. It will have to be a reflection of my vision, not an editor's."

Haven's gaze darkens. "We don't generally do business that way, Mr. Castle, especially with new authors. We have a reputation to uphold."

"I'm only new to you," Ms. Haven," Castle points out. "I've written 23 bestsellers. If you won't accept my terms, I'm sure Ms. Haas will have no difficulty finding a publishing house that will."

Wilhelmina draws herself up in her chair. "I doubt that will be necessary, Mr. Castle. I'm sure we can come to a mutual understanding."

"Ms. Haven I believe that we understand each other quite well." Rick pushes away from the conference table. "You can work out the details with Ms. Haas. I have other matters that require my attention."

* * *

"Babe, are you going to be sick?" Kate asks as Rick drops into his chair with his head in his hands.

"I already was," Rick admits, "after I stood up to Wilhelmina Haven. She's a legend in the publishing world for inheriting her grandfather's iron hand and steel plating it. No one argues with her."

"Except you?"

"She wanted to take away control of my work. Kate, it's one thing to write for a popular genre. I've sold a lot of books and made a lot of money doing it. But I feel like Poison Pen is my chance to step up, to do more than tell exciting tales. I'm not about to let Wilhelmina Haven or anyone else screw with that. If I fail, the failure will be all mine. But if I succeed, the success will also belong to me, not one of HBF's editors. Can you understand that?"

"That you need Castle to be Castle? I wouldn't want you to agree to anything else. Would you like me to make you some tea or something? I think there's some of that herbal stuff Jenny makes Ryan drink, in the breakroom."

Rick gags. "That would probably make me sick again. I'll just sit here a while and watch my exquisite bride-to-be at work."

Kate points to a stack of witness statements. "If you feel up to it, while you're watching, maybe you can put these in date and alphabetical order."

"That would be my very great pleasure."

* * *

As Kate closes the door to the loft behind them, Rick spies a pile of glossy magazines on the table. "Oh no, it appears that Mother's been at it again. I don't know why. She knows we have our venue."

"She did ask me last night if I'd given any thought to my wedding gown," Kate recalls, picking up the top publication on the pile. "Yeah, that must be it. This is a special designer issue of Bridal Monthly. Wow, there's enough lace on that cover gown to trim ten dresses. It looks like a layer cake — without the chocolate raspberry." She flips through the pages. "And some of these have more crystals than a chandelier. I don't want Lanie and Sophia to have to hold up my dress so I can pee, and I want to be able to dance with my husband without worrying about anything falling off of me. I don't think any of these designers have heard that 'Less is more."

"I think they're afraid that the 'less' might apply to the prices of their creations," Castle suggests. "Hmm, maybe you could get a white wet suit to go with your swimming with dolphins fantasy. I could get one to match. On the other hand, we'd have to take those off to pee, too. Listen, we found the venue of your dreams. You can find the dress of your dreams too. I can take you shopping if you want, or just give you my credit card, like Richard Gere in 'Pretty Woman.' Or do you want to go with Lanie or your cousin?"

"No, Martha's just trying to help. I'll see if she wants to go."

"Thanks, Kate. I'm obviously not the only one around here who can be sweet. Bonus, Mother can teach a master's class in using my credit cards."

Kate shakes her head. "It will be my dress. I think I'd rather use my own."


	61. Chapter 61

Poison Pen

Chapter 61

Kate had always pictured the awarding of Pulitzer Prizes as a glitzy event, like the Oscars or Emmys. She's relieved that it isn't. She didn't have to face a gaggle of photographers or tell anyone who she's wearing.

She and Castle are sitting around a table at a luncheon with writers and Columbia University trustees. Castle's already decided to donate the $15,000 prize to a program to support young writers. She couldn't be prouder of him for that. The next hour or two will just be a matter of getting through the meal and various speeches.

It's only about three weeks until their wedding, and from the catering samplings she's tasted, the food at the reception will be better than what she's eating now. At least she hopes so. Her mind drifts to what lies ahead.

The perfect dress is waiting at Lanie's apartment. With a full dose of theatrical superstition, Martha insisted that the gown be stored out of the loft, to avoid any chance that Rick might see it before the wedding and bring down a curse on the proceedings. Kate has to admit that she is enjoying Rick's restless curiosity. He was in on everything else. They slogged through the guest list together, mercifully restrained by the fire marshall's occupancy limits for the hall. Agreeing on the menu wasn't difficult. The caterer threw in enough diversity to satisfy guests with an array of dietary needs. The music was another matter, Kate being more jazz to Rick's rock and roll. At Alexis' suggestion, they settled on a string quartet that the teen's violin teacher recommended for the ceremony, and a D.J. to play a mix of styles at the reception.

Ever since she was twelve and saw an island nations travelogue, Kate has always wanted to visit Figi. With Martha volunteering to keep an eye on Alexis, or maybe the other way around, Rick enthusiastically agreed to the trip. Kate will be using her hoarded days off to spend two glorious weeks with Rick in paradise. She just has to make it through the next few weeks – and lunch.

Kate gazes at her fiancé. He's glowing. The Poe award was an honor, if a dangerous one, but she knows how much more a Pulitzer means to her future husband. She couldn't be happier for him. It may be time for her to start moving up too. When they get back from Figi, she'll be working toward that goal.

* * *

Castle anxiously scans the sky. Not that rain was predicted, the forecast featured zero probability of precipitation, but he's gotten soaked after similar prognostications. Still, no sign of a cloud.

Alexis is playing hostess to the musicians, smiling her welcome to the 16-year-old cello player. With Owen having departed the picture after getting too friendly with a former acquaintance from summer camp, Rick's daughter is a free agent. After deluges of tears, she accepted her new status. At the moment, she seems to be enjoying it. Rick's hoping she isn't enjoying it too much.

Kate's closeted inside the museum with Lanie and Sophia. Martha gave into Rick's urging to go check on her and reported that he'll be blown away by the radiance of his bride. He's blown away by Kate when she's wearing a T-shirt and old jeans, and Mother's opinion has all of her experience with preternaturally stunning starlets behind it.

The aisle leading to the wedding arch is closely mowed grass topped by a scattering of lilac petals. As the sun slants through the trees, Kate appears on it like a vision. The ivory satin of her simple gown is warm in the filtered light, her hair loose and graced by a bit of baby's breath. To Castle's bewitched eyes, she floats over the space between them on her father's arm, to take her place at Rick's side.

Pastor Madeleine Modeen raises her hands in silent blessing to signal the start of the ceremony. "Dear ones, we are gathered here to celebrate the most joyous of passages in the lives of Richard and Katherine.

"Marriage in these times is often taken too lightly, as something to do at a particular stage of a career or relationship. But marriage is the most serious and all-encompassing of commitments. Richard and Kate will be entering into a new life, not as self-sufficient souls but in a joining of hearts and spirits. Two as one, they will face every challenge this world presents. Whether knocked to their knees or rising to greater heights, they will do it together, gaining strength in shared love.

"Now, I invite you all to stand witness as Richard and Katherine join hands and speak their vows to each other. Richard?"

"Kate, you are the light of my life and the beat of my heart. With you, I have done what I never thought possible. I can share with you as I've never shared with another being. I feel your joy, your hope, your sorrow, your fear, as you know mine. When you fall, I promise to be there to pick you up. When you soar, I will ride the wind at your side. I vow to stand with you, holding fast in the face of whatever the future may bring." Esposito passes Kate's ring to Ryan, who gives it to Rick. "For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, with this ring I thee wed." With a steady hand, Rick slips a gold band on Kate's finger.

Pastor Modeen turns to Kate. "Katherine?"

"Rick, I never knew I could feel as close to a man as I do to you. I can share thoughts and dreams I'd locked tightly behind the wall I'd built around my heart. Your kindness, your insight, and your love led me to a life I never knew existed and give me the courage to seek new possibilities. I want to work with you, play with you, fall asleep in your arms, and wake to your smile." Sophia passes Rick's ring to Lanie, who hands it to Kate. "For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, with this ring I thee wed."

Modeen lays her hands on Rick and Kate's shoulders. "Richard and Katherine, as you have pledged yourself to each other through the exchange of vows and rings, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Rick can see only Kate as he takes her into his arms for a kiss, while Modeen waits with a patient smile. "May I now introduce to this assemblage, Kate and Rick Beckett-Castle."

* * *

Digging her toes into the sand, Kate gazes out at the ocean. "The time has gone so fast. I can't believe we have to head back to New York today."

"I know, right?" Rick commiserates, wrapping his arms around her waist." I was considering calling management and asking if we could extend our stay in the bungalow."

Kate sighs. "We can't, you know. I don't have any more vacation, and I need to study for the sergeant's exam. Black Pawn is expecting a Nikki Heat, and HBF wants you to work on a new book, too."

Rick sighs. "Maybe we should have given some thought to being miserable failures."

"Too late for that," Kate laments, rolling sparkling eyes. "From now on, you're going to have 'Pulitzer prize winner' in front of your name, and I'm planning to add another title in front of mine, too."

"The time has come," Rick proclaims, "to begin the era of our new and exciting adventures. Let the world be warned. The Beckett-Castles are coming through!"

Finis

A/N Thank you, gentle readers, for taking this ride with me. For the next story, we'll need some divine intervention. Kate Beckett is plummeting down the rabbit hole after fruitlessly investigating her mother's death. Johanna asks the heavenly powers for permission to intervene to help Kate find peace and her one true love. Join me for "Guardian Angel."


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